“I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.”

Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.

When I say I love you, I mean something raw something below the surface of all waters; something almost too naked and true!

Like her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.

I’ve been quiet most of today. By which I mean I can see myself in the mirror; And believe me it is something hard to look at these days.

I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.

I guess this has been my confusion; where I went wrong. Thinking that love could possibly come as a thing without the burns.

To me there was only ever you!

I knew you would leave someday; And from there a poet will be born from the ashes.

Love is a job doer and a man slayer. Both equally efficient, until the taste of it is most felt on the cold side of the ribs.

There’s not much I know about forgetting. By which I mean I can hear her name from a distance; and it still breathes cold in my chest.

Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.

I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.

And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.

Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.

Hide nothing, for time, which sees all and hears all, exposes all.

You and I won’t lose each other, I will always find you again. No matter how well you hide. I’m unstoppable.

The Loch Ness monster doesn’t exist either. Loch Ness is just not big enough to hide a thirty foot amphibian or reptile for hundreds of years.

One-half, the finest half, of life is hidden from the man who does not love with passion.

I think a lot of people like hidden-camera shows where they think they’re spying on somebody who doesn’t know they’re looking at them. And nobody takes it seriously – you either enjoy it and get a laugh out of the reactions or not.

Nothing is so hideous as an obsolete fashion.

Self love is not only loving the parts of yourself you deem beautiful, but also the parts you’d rather hide away knowing they are all deserving.

I don’t even know where mine [Oscar award] is. My mother has hidden it because everybody who comes in wants to take a photograph of it. So what she’s done is she put it inside a suitcase somewhere.