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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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Breathe End Himself Leaving Taste
Poetry is the loveliest art. It has a wretched way of revealing our own character when we think we are judging the poets.
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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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Blood Himself Love Myself
I like you here, between commas, where the only thing you can break now, is my lines.
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Break Myself Yourself
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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She is of the strangest beauty and the darkest courage, and when she walks with intent the earth trembles beneath her feet.
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Moon child with your galaxy heart, cool your heels and stay awhile.
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I still pick at these memories of you; I pick them until they bleed.
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Blood Memories Yourself
I have known love and I have known loss, but in the end, they both looked a lot like you.
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Break Up End Loss Love Myself Yourself
He was everything I never could, but always wanted to love.
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Dance with me. Bring my demons to their knees.
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Dance Devil Myself Relationship
I could lose myself in you or die blissfully, trying.
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Death Lose Myself Try
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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He was all dangerous eyes and beautiful lies, but I ached. for him to lie to me some more.
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Pleasure or pain; I’ll take either as long as it is laced with passion.
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Myself Pain Passion
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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