“Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.”

She’s like turning on the radio and hearing a brand new song.

We are only beautiful monsters, dreaming of god.

She’s just a girl. But her pussy makes me see god.

I gave her address to my soul. Ans she fucked the mailman.

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.

I hope hearing my name makes you break. Not all at once, but little by little.

We all break our rules for love.

And in the end, we were all just humans, Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.

You’re too busy leaving while I’m too busy making you stay.

Everyone’s gone through a breakup, and I’ve dated girls in the past where… I’ve never had a messy breakup, thankfully, but I’m never the one to end it. I’m always caught off guard as to why things ended because I guess I’m oblivious in a way.

To be alive is to be broken; to be broken is to stand in need of grace.

I dreamed about these moments, and I think I hoped I would have them, but you don’t know. So when the lucky break hits, it’s like being Cinderella and hopefully midnight doesn’t come.

As for what concerns our relations with our fellow men, the anguish in our neighbor’s soul must break all precept. All that we do is a means to an end, but love is an end in itself, because God is love.