“I wish the voices would pour from every orifice. Bleed from my bones and drain me of this illness.”

Even in darkness, your light burns with the cosmic energy of a thousand falling stars.

Your flesh is like the ocean. Let it wave, rise, ripple, and soar in all its glorious commotion.

I’m not asking that you take the bullet for me. I wish you’d shoot first.

Forever dreaming of a faraway place, where the sun melts my sorrows and blows kisses on my face.

Intrusive thoughts burn holes in my brain. I guess that’s why I’m so empty.

This little black dress doesn’t hide imperfections. It shows off my soul.

Old habits die hard, so fill up my cup and let’s raise hell in heaven.

All smoke and mirrors, nothing concrete or real -Social Media

Consumed by darkness but drenched in warm morning sun. Life’s oxymoron.

Like water lies spill from my lips. Droplets of poison ready to kill.

Your body ebbs, flows, ripples, and glows like water. Don’t fear changing tides.

Vanilla ice cream melts down my wrist as my lips melt all over yours.

Shadows follow me the way a vulture stalks death. One small step ahead.

Twenty-six letters, infinite stories to tell, nothing comes to mind.

Double chin, Fat Thighs. Will you think about these things before your last breath?

Talk dirty to me like I’m a nun on her knees screaming hail Mary.

Sick and perverted always appeals to me.

It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill.

The greatest evil that can befall man is that he should come to think ill of himself.

I treat my heart like a sick child and gratify its every fancy.

There is something in sickness that breaks down the pride of manhood.

Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body.

When the aristocracy catches a cold, as it is said, the working class dies of pneumonia.

Anxiety feels like over-explaining chronically.