“It’s funny how love fades, and they become more than a poem about yesterday.”

He opened her cages, and freed the things inside.

I’m wrong but I’m real.

Break me. Until there’s nothing left and I’ll be free.

She’s no rose. But in her I see the beauty of thorns.

There’s this thing that hurts inside me all the time. Because I know what’s coming.

Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.

Failures often become art. And art can never fail.

Summer looks the same. But last summer she loved me.

Poems are a nice way of saying fuck you.

Always falling but not for anything.

We search for meaning. And destroy it.

She was simple. Like a poem, and always dressed in sunshine.

She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.

A lot of ugly people hide behind beautiful eyes. A lot of things are only lies.

I never drink in the morning. Mornings are for drugs.

She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.

Life is a lonely journey. We expect and even believe that someone will always be there for us, but that illusion fades away with age and time.

The sky is on fire I am, too cigarette burns on my faded tattoo.

She is fading she is falling she is flying.

We’re the mirror of the cosmos, where stars collapse, born, and fade in unison.

Our love faded quickly like footprints upon brittle sand washed away by a wandering tide who couldn’t keep his heart on land.

It happens in the quiet when that buzzing in the back of my mind fades out and I can’t do anything but simply feel.

One thing I will always love is how the world fades away when you look at me.

It breaks my heart in half watching your spirit fall. So when the light is fading, can I be the one you call?