“She tried building walls but a heart of fire and air breath and spirit cannot be confined.”

Can’t you see you’re toxic to me there’s no affection just obsession?

Some girls dream of princes and castles others play with matches.

I don’t mind his company but I wish he was you.

I feel too much and I fall in love with words – poet.

Brave soul, you will survive it all.

With him, the tides the moon, and life itself lost their spell over her.

Some nights I wish I could slip into her skin and wear her flesh only to feel his touch.

And you broke me in all the ways I loved you.

She’s a daughter of the healers in Salem and even tho her wings are scorched she still chooses to do good.

I cannot tell if it is a blessing from an old god or lovely dark art only that he holds my heart.

And you will always be my most beautiful someone.

And his rough hands upon my porcelain skin had me howling at the moon.

And every time I care I die a little.

There are parts of me that beg him to devour all of me.

The art of harvesting pain – poetry.

Poetry is not a cure for sadness but it makes the pain bearable.

When it comes, you’ll be dreaming that you don’t need to breathe; that breathless silence is the music of the dark and it’s part of the rhythm to vanish like a spark.

I do a little bit of yoga-style meditation. Relaxing and breathing even just one minute a day makes a big difference.

There is a power somewhere so organized, so subtle, so watchful, so interlocked, so complete, so pervasive, that they had better not speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.

Breathe and don’t try to be perfect.

When you’re pushed killing is as easy as breathing.

When you kissed me you breathed air into my lifeless soul.

You are the oxygen and I’m dying to breathe.

Deep breaths are very helpful at shallow parties.