“I feel everything to the bottom of its depth maybe its a gift, its probably a curse.”

There is nothing like the four walls of your arms wrapping around me when a storm is near.

I told myself – You’ve got this, Even though I don’t have it at all.

The outer part of me so cold like an armor impenetrable. The words you throw at me ricochet and hit you in the heart.

Shades of black intertwined in my being I try to see in color but darkness is all I’m seeing.

I still remember the first time I saw you, your aura radiated nostalgia of a time where I wanted something so much more than I wanted air.

I take for granted how much I love sad songs when I’m happy I forget how much they hurt when I’m broken.

Late at night I’m awake thinking. I’m afraid of what I’d do to be able to taste you again.

I’d rather be shot by a bullet than to be cut by your words. I’ll die cold on the pavement before I lie in the casket of your assurances.

I will be more than I was yesterday, even if that means I can’t take you with me.

I got what I wanted then I threw it away why do I mess up the only things that want to stay.

A smile made of promises and a heart made of broken chains. She was a beautiful contradiction.

I found peace in my loneliness. I found solace in the quiet. I found love in my reflection.

And as you left my heart cried out then suddenly I was thankful that the cries of the heart can only be felt and not heard.

I want you to love me for me so that all my flaws stitch together and make me whole.

And when she stopped letting him steal her light she shined brighter than every star in the night sky.

Standing alone on the edge wondering if anyone could ache as much as I do.

Is it a blessing or is it a curse, to feel everything so deeply.

Time might only tell if this will be comfort or a curse.

Without death in the world, existence in it would soon become, through over-population, the most frightful of curses.

I grew up cursing a lot.

If I start going back to church, I’d have to stop the smoking and drinking, and I wouldn’t be able to curse any more.

Caring can be a curse.

Respect your curses, for they are the instruments of your destiny.

Pacifists become militants. Freedom fighters become tyrants. Blessings become curses. Help becomes hindrance. More becomes less.