“This heart of mine wears battle scars, only a beast could understand. A hunter must be patient in this war zone of land.”

Sometimes the angry sky rages before the bellowing tears spill.

I want to be his peace and his raging fire. His muse and every desire.

Have the courage to be afraid, because fear is a sign that you care deeply. If you care deeply enough, you will be brave enough.

Love is magic and magic is everywhere. You just need to open your heart to see it.

On my knees, lips slightly parted thirsty, ready for a strong stiff one. Make it neat I love the burn.

I’m suffocating on empty promises and twisted truths. I’m drowning in a bottomless pool of illusion.

I’m the fire that dances in the rain, I’m the love that lives in my heart. I’m the broken heart that crashes, I’m the phoenix rising from the ashes. I’m healing and scars, I’m the sun and all the stars.

Your smile keeps me longing for the taste of your lips pressed against my soul.

Insomnia. Restless soul. Long dark nights. Haunted heavy heart feels. Foggy.

Although you stood before me in all your tangible glory, your love evaporated like an illusion melting in my hands.

I’m the queen of broken hearts with a reign that’s sure to last.

She is dandelion wishes and watermelon kisses. He is tumultuous fire and venomous desire.

Love is my religion and let it use me to be the light on the darkest of nights.

Tainted with lies, toxic fire dancing in your eyes. Kisses like poison arrows aiming for the heart killing me softly. Toxic love is an art.

I do not know how to love gently. Devour me completely leaving no insecurities behind. Let me taste every drop of your devotion. Lets run like the wolves and never let go.

You’re the secret whisper of the mountain. The fresh water stream that babbles down the majestic moonlit reverie. You’re the silent hush of screaming stars that ache my heart with the taste of magic.

The angel is free because of his knowledge, the beast because of his ignorance. Between the two remains the son of man to struggle.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts?

Man is something that shall be overcome. Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman – a rope over an abyss.

Truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds them. We live by the death of others. We are burial places.

He who is unable to live in society, or who has no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast or a god.

In all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep.

An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.