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

I liked her simplicity. She wanted coffee and orgasms.

In an endless universe, she needed space.

I messed up a lot of things. I called it poetry.

Overcoming guilt, its the first step to doing it again.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.

I wake to find her there, with glowing eyes and tangled hair. She is my sunrise.

Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.

True love is letting her know that her ass really does look fat in those jeans.

If there’s never been a restraining order, it ain’t love.

It wasn’t forever. But I loved her until I hated her.

She was only a collection of flaws and she was beautiful.

There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.

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.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in life, not to change things but just to feel things twice.

I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.

I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.

Those who are heartless, once cared too much.

You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then-and only then-it is handed to you.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

Don’t feel sad over someone who gave up on you, feel sorry for them because they gave up on someone who would have never given up on them.

Maybe one day we shall be glad to remember even these hardships.