“A cherry blossom refusing to bow to the seasons; fighting off frozen winds fiercely, for it knows the power held in the beauty, of its bloom.”

It seems strange how we look in the same mirror, yet what stares back, is so painfully different.

These empty halls are crowded, this silence is too loud. Shadows they call out, now i’ve lost what once was found.

You cannot force a vine to grow the fruit of an apple tree, for the sake of your love of apples. What fruit can it possibly bear?

My blood is fifty percent alcohol the other half was you.

Now i’m like you, just a memory floating across, this now foreign land.

You’re my bad habit, on this dark planet, light up my world like stars, now they’re ashes.

I don’t want to forget you, even though its best to, now you’re just the empty space, in my bedroom.

Contemplate your own mortality daily, then see how much we must change.

My closest friend is myself, although he may lie to me, at least i know the lies to be true.

Of all the roses in the bush, you have the sharpest thorns.

I revel in the solace found when gold rays caress your sleeping face. Blissfully unaware of the beauty they’re revealing.

I want to hear your secrets, to learn their weight, and bare them as my own.

You are a drug that my blood forgot, it needed.

Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poetry. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportianate, the absurd and the forbidden.

I was in disbelief that I’d just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me.

I don’t want to show my body to the ones, who often close their eyes, when it’s time to praise the beauty of my mind and soul.

I feel fine and comfortable with myself, but not because I’m beautiful.

There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness.

She has the scent of cinnamon summer that the roots of winter absorb.

What is really beautiful must always be true.

I know many beautiful people and their lives are just so terrible. They feel so uncomfortable with themselves. Being comfortable is not about what you look like, but how you feel.