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

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Call Mess Myself Poetry

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

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

Heart Herself Memories
She was simple. Like a poem, and always dressed in sunshine.
TONY COBLE

Herself Poem Simplicity Sunshine
She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.
TONY COBLE

Broken Heart Herself
With her, the world becomes art.
TONY COBLE

Art Herself World
I gave her address to my soul. Ans she fucked the mailman.
TONY COBLE

Address Herself Mail Man Soul
She wanted romance. I just wanted to fuck the stars out of her eyes.
TONY COBLE

Eyes Myself Romance Sex Stars
She wanted love. So I fed her, inch by inch.
TONY COBLE

Fed Herself Love Myself Sex
Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.
TONY COBLE

Poetry Silence Word
We are only beautiful monsters, dreaming of god.
TONY COBLE

Beautiful Dreams God Monster
Failures often become art. And art can never fail.
TONY COBLE

Art Failure Myself Wisdom
Sometimes I wonder if these rain soaked shoes will get me home.
TONY COBLE

Home Myself Rain Shoes Time Wonder
Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.
TONY COBLE

Forget Heart Night Poetry Try Wound Yourself
There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.
TONY COBLE

Beautiful Hell Herself Shine Strange
I wake to find her there, with glowing eyes and tangled hair. She is my sunrise.
TONY COBLE

Eyes Glow Hairs Myself Surprise Wake Up
I messed up a lot of things. I called it poetry.
TONY COBLE

Call Mess Myself Poetry
Always falling but not for anything.
TONY COBLE

Attitude Fall One Liner

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