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

I hope you rise like the sun, bright and cheerful. Fresh and free from yesterdays storms and ready to shine your light on the world.

You thought you could take advantage of my heart. But I’ve mastered revenge and made it an art.

Storms in his eyes, Fire in his heart, Lust in his touch, Tearing me apart.

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.

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.

A bad word from a colleague can darken a whole day. We need encouragement a lot more than we admit, even to ourselves.

My breaths give out the stench of dark black pain, that rooted from the poison you gifted me with love.

I seek out the good but keep my senses on alert but then there are moments when all I want to do is drown in the sea.

Darkness attracts me, it’s the only time, I can cry in peace.

The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color-line, — the relation of the darker to the lighter races of men in Asia and Africa, in America and the islands of the sea.

And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

This idea of perpetual happiness is crazy and overrated, because those dark moments fuel you for the next bright moments; each one helps you appreciate the other.

No durable things are built on violent passion. Nature grows her plants in silence and in darkness, and only when they have become strong do they put their heads above the ground.