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

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.

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.

My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.

If this love is going to break me, at least make my suffering sweet. I want to know what you taste like in sweltering summer heat.

Within me lies an abundance of love that your ego was too blind to see.

I used every color on my palette to bring you back to life. Now you paint the most beautiful rainbows in someone else’s skies.

There is strength in breaking and becoming.

One thing about prejudices — once you break one of them, you’re screwed, because then they all have got to go.

I am still learning to love all the parts of me you kept hidden.

There is magic in shattering, for the most beautiful masterpieces are made from broken glass.