“What a waste of scar if it doesn’t remind you of strength.”

She has a heart of silk, everyone she loves slips away.

We are simply the memories of our tomorrows.

Her heart is graveyard of lovers, promises and scars.

Some of her addictions were weird. They have heartbeats.

Anxiety is way louder than it sounds, I want to speak but i am short of breath.

I have been to places and left my heart in few. None of them felt real, none of them felt like you.

You are healing and you are doing good, like the crescent before becoming full.

Nothing is more beautiful than two broken hearts healing each other.

That damn fire she was so proud of, burnt her own bones.

I’m sure stars and moon run out of laugh, every time a lover promises pluck one of them.

Now that i am numb, i crave for pain.

Flowers only wither to bloom again. So shall you break, only to be whole again.

The wars you create, will be fought by your children, for the people already dead.

I will calm my heart with time and turn us into memories.

Stars must be fed up of hearing your name every time they fall.

Someday your pen will write a revolution. Until then, write your pain.

Find beauty in my scars. For I’m a walking gallery of several masterpieces.

Beauty now lies behind some of the deepest of scars where pain once called home.

Life goes on but the scars remain.

Only the moon’s smile can cure the unseen scars of darkness.

Every freckle, mole, dimple, and scar, shine bright in my body’s constellation of stars.

I think scars are like battle wounds – beautiful, in a way. They show what you’ve been through and how strong you are for coming out of it.

To be alive at all is to have scars.

whatever doesn’t kill you leaves scars.