“The night used to spill down onto my skin. Now it just swallows me whole.”

Dreams of our last night together left a tingling feeling like a splinter in my skin. I couldn’t grasp it, but the glorious pain sat brewing into my bones.

Don’t let them take any more of your heart that you’ve already given them. Hold onto what you have left and build it again.

Rainbow sugar, candied eyes. You have the potential to crack me open and let my feelings spill right onto the floor.

Your euphoric eyes hold me hostage.

I don’t mind wasting my hours with you.

You make the ocean in the pit of my stomach surge with overwhelming intensity.

This winter is quite inviting knowing your warm hands will be upon mine every minute.

Just you and only you. You fit so perfectly in my arms, in my bed and between my legs.

I seek out your skin at night.

I want to have my best days with you.

There won’t be anyone else. I can tell you that right now. Your eyes show me that you don’t believe that just yet. Even if it takes me months or years. I’ll make you believe it so.

Theres a lover in you somewhere.

You have hues of love on your skin.

Down upon my tongue I feel your skin sigh. A touch of sensual, luxury, and statisfy.

I hope when she touches you it burns holes into your skin and leaves scars where my lips would have been.

I’ll let you grab my hips any day of the week, if only you promise to pull me close and whisper that I’m the best view you’ve ever seen.

Early on, if I was alone two-three nights in a row, I’d start writing poems about suicide.

Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.

To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.

Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.

Being famous used to just defeat me. I wouldn’t leave my house because I was worried about someone being like, ‘Oh, are you Mac Miller?’ and then the rest of the night I couldn’t be myself.

Night came walking through Egypt swishing her black dress.

Every time we sit at a table at night or in the morning to enjoy the fruits and grain and vegetables from our good earth, remember that they come from the work of men and women and children who have been exploited for generations.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.