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Whatever it is that stirs your soul listen to that. Everything else is just noise.

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I write because suicide is no longer an option.
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The tide has pulled the storm from my soul again. But in all that is right or wrong and pure, there is you, and your stunning ability to blur the lines and just be.
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I swear if I were to rip myself open, it wouldn’t be blood that poured out of me, it would be him.
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I breathe him in so deep that when he is gone I exhale and taste him again.
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Too many times I have given this heart away, I am afraid it is no longer mine.
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She is love, and a little fucking unstoppable.
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I think I saw you again in the moonlight tonight, and I swear I could taste the hints of it alll.
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The deepest pain I ever felt was denying my own feelings to make everyone else comfortable.
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I am world of uncertainties disguised as a girl.
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Be patient with me, dear heart. The art of loving is a peculiar business when one has spent an eternity hating themselves.
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Be bold, child. You are rare and you are brazen light.
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I have been covered in easy kisses from uneasy lips, and I know I smell weary again.
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And that is the nature of us poets and whores, to make things hard: dicks, choices, life.
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We were electric together, you and me; we turned hurting each other into a goddamned symphony.
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Some souls were never meant to be content.
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