“I learned to make art with my broken heart.”

Faded secrets and old voices have built towns inside my heart. Thats were we still meet.

The sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.

The sky was crying so I wiped away her tears, just like all the times she did the same me.

Each time I fall back in love with myself, I leave my pen and paper behind. It isn’t personal, or maybe it is. I just a always thought that poetry was for the hurting.

I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?

In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.

I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.

You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.

Your name still tastes like poison in my mouth.

Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.

I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.

I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.

I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.

Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.

He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.

A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

We have art in order not to die of the truth.

Well, art is art, isn’t it? Still, on the other hand, water is water!

Taking time for your art is taking time for yourself.

The best art is political and you ought to be able to make it unquestionably political and irrevocably beautiful at the same time.

Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.

Diplomacy is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions.

Intimacy is a difficult art.

How rich art is, if one can only remember what one has seen, one is never empty of thoughts or truly lonely, never alone.