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

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 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.

My mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.

I laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.

Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.

I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.

There was a time when I loved you too much that it made me feel the darkest shades of blue. It’s been years now, but I’m seeing life in other colors again.

A sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.

These days my bones are shifting, trembled things. I am more earthquake than anything.

With love, there are so many layers to it that you can write all day about it. It’s not just heartbreak or falling in love; there’s so many different ways to look at it.

Everything I know of love is told in the bruises we left on each other.

I spent a lifetime building shrine to things that can’t love me back. (music, poetry, you)

I don’t know how else to say it. I will love you for the rest of my life.

How can I be soft when tough love is all I ever known?

Even heartbreak can find a way to feel like home.

We built futures I’ll never get to visit. But I still have to watch them crumble.