“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’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.

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.

Your smile is watching a flower bloom in love. Shy at first, then your brightness unfolds and you magically decorate the world with your flashy hues.

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

I walk around like a faded ghost, a shell of a person waiting to be filled with your love which brings me to life like a cup of morning coffee.

Mold me into poetry. Make me flow beautifully and deep. Write me into rhythmic verses with silent words that make me weep. Paint me with emotions like a bleeding sunset on a shore.

If only love spilled from lips and truth bled from hearts then hate would drown in a flood of understanding.

This melancholy heart longs for a fresh start, where darkness will lift sands of time, kindly sift without a sound for i am found.

Art lives from constraints and dies from freedom.

Is politics nothing other than the art of deliberately lying?

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art. It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.

Art is never finished, only abandoned.

Your life is already artful-waiting, just waiting, for you to make it art.

All art is knowing when to stop.

Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.

The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.