“I spoke to myself in lyrics and sugar coated words. A melody of lies and symphonies to soften the blow of how i really felt. I licked at the tender taste and fell into a cacophony within my skin. Would this ever end? This denial of feelings?”

Jewellry doesn’t excite me, no more than a tightly wrapped gift, but when you show up at my door, small smile and eager to kiss, i’m more excited than i could ever believe.

Make love to this body like you always have.

Its as simple as that. A slow burning flame flickering upon these freckled fingers.

She won’t bend and break as you’d expect her to, she’s a solid form of bravery and fearlessness and that can’t be undone.

Kiss on forehead, nose and cheek. Repeat.

This petite heart found strength in your kind eyes.

You’re a divine human being. A tongue swift as a sword and hands that can hold every drop.

You’re a work of art only just framed by my eager fingertips.

I’m still trying to fix up the wreckage you left behind, the chaotic strings of misery you let fall to the floor. Each piece delicately piercing my skin, the red glow a contrast to my continual white limbs.

Dreams of our last night together left a tingling feeling like a splinter in my skin. I couldn’t grasp it, but the glorious pain sat brewing into my bones.

Don’t let them take any more of your heart that you’ve already given them. Hold onto what you have left and build it again.

Rainbow sugar, candied eyes. You have the potential to crack me open and let my feelings spill right onto the floor.

Your euphoric eyes hold me hostage.

I don’t mind wasting my hours with you.

You make the ocean in the pit of my stomach surge with overwhelming intensity.

This winter is quite inviting knowing your warm hands will be upon mine every minute.

You can feel when something’s authentic, and you can feel when it’s not: you know when someone’s trying to make the club record, or trying to make the girl record, or trying to make the thug record. It’s none of that. It’s just my emotions.

We want people to feel with us more than to act for us.

We have to be careful not to elevate our preferences to moral standards and judge others by them. We only do so to feel superior.

The age seems sore from excess of stimulation, just as a day or two after a thorough Debauch and long sustained Drinking-match a man feels all over like a Bruise.

I’m a part of the music that happened. My voice is one more instrument, is what it is. So that’s the way I feel about people who “play on sessions.

Jobless people will have no self-confidence. And they feel they are worthless because when you don’t have a job you have to rely on someone.

Certainly the people who are close to me are happier. They feel freer.

Happiness is an abstraction, it is a product of the imagination, it is a way of being moved, which depends entirely on our way of seeing and feeling.