“Even pretty words turn into ash while pouring out of an ugly mouth.”

No waiting by the phone not doing it. For he is not all that I am.

Don’t just scratch my surface make my entire soul purr.

From opal mornings to indigo nights I think about you, all the time.

I want to kiss you so much it hurts and I want to caress your skin until it no longer does.

Autumn makes us pull up our feet and curl up with our hearts.

What a pure and intimate thing – to be reading the words of another.

You calm my soul and set it on fire at the same time.

I don’t even have to read between my own line, the poetry speaks so loud and a little too clear.

Brushing teeth swallowing held back tears, this is not how we are supposed to be.

You know what would be hot? To get loved before you get fucked.

I want to see you naked stripped bare yourself in front of me and then you can take your clothes off.

All these candles unlit perhaps they too need to breathe you.

She won’t settle for being just another girl on your feed you know.

What about us who would like a piece of the soul served as an aperitif before we dig into flesh?

I want to see our demons complement each other for the rest of our lives.

What if last time felt so beautiful simply because it actually was our last time?

Words are the counters of wise men, and the money of fools.

Much depends on your attitude. If you are filled with negative judgment and anger, then you will feel separate from other people. You will feel lonely.

Nothing is more usual than for philosophers to encroach upon the province of grammarians; and to engage in disputes of words, while they imagine that they are handling controversies of the deepest importance and concern

Eloquence, with flattery, disposeth men to confide in them that have it; because the former is seeming wisdom, the latter seeming kindness.

Forgiving is not forgetting; its actually remembering–remembering and not using your right to hit back. Its a second chance for a new beginning. And the remembering part is particularly important. Especially if you dont want to repeat what happened.

No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

What if everything in the world were a misunderstanding, what if laughter were really tears?

I stick my finger into existence and it smells of nothing.