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

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.

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

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

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

Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.

Your poems are so beautiful I almost forgot the pain you lived to pen them-from pain comes with beautiful things.

It’s a beautiful night in Paris. It’s raining and I’d like us to love each other tonight.

And you will always be my most beautiful someone.

Her beauty made you look but her soul was the sun.

Darling, like a growing daisy you are beautiful. Keep in mind that you are ravishing despite the change of season.

I don’t usually speak when I look at you, For beautiful creatures are best enjoyed in silence.

Truth is most beautiful undraped.

There is no sunrise as beautiful as the one where you realize you are worth a million suns.