“And in a world full of wonder a loyal soul that keeps your heart whole is the rarest of them all.”

I cannot tell if it is a blessing from an old god or lovely dark art only that he holds my heart.

And you will always be my most beautiful someone.

And his rough hands upon my porcelain skin had me howling at the moon.

And every time I care I die a little.

There are parts of me that beg him to devour all of me.

The art of harvesting pain – poetry.

Poetry is not a cure for sadness but it makes the pain bearable.

I’m laying bare still untouched by the hands I crave completely taken by words.

You didn’t need to make her cuts this deep.

She dances barefoot through the smoke upon ashes from a broken world  – she is hope.

A loving reminder at least we are lonely together.

Steal back your heart – self-love.

And then I understood you were never my rescue yet always my escape.

He may never slay a dragon but he will grow old with you begging for death to leave you alone.

And they wrapped her in darkness until she became it – Lilith.

Are you aware of the wilderness you awoke when you broke me?

Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.

Many of my cartoons are not a belly laugh. I go for nostalgia, the lump in the throat, the tear in the eye, the tug in the heart.

Throw back the shoulders, let the heart sing, let the eyes flash, let the mind be lifted up, look upward and say to yourself … nothing is impossible!

This heart. It’s broke. I don’t want it anymore.

My arms ache to hold you how my heart already does.

So long as we believe in our heart of hearts that our capacity is limited and we grow anxious and unhappy, we are lacking in faith. One who truly trusts in God has no right to be anxious about anything.

Tragic breaks my heart but its when I feel most alive.

Everyone has ocean’s to fly, if they have the heart to do it. Is it reckless? Maybe. But what do dreams know of boundaries?