“I’m a bird trapped in a self-made cage.”

She loved nothing more than a man who wasn’t afraid to test them. To test her.

This is good for you. Death is a thing of beauty, and it needs to be executed in such a way that does it justice.

If you are afraid of darkness, you are afraid of your own soul.

I part my lips, but no words come out. I want to cry. Want to beg. Want to scream. But mostly, I want to hold him until I know he’s going to be okay. Then I want him to hold me until I’m okay, too.

Her soul was too deep to explore by those who always swam in the shallow end.

Submissive, sure, but someone who wants it all the same.

I felt it. I heard the snap of my heart tearing in half. It wasn’t a messy, dirty rip like I’d expected, but a smooth, clean line that knew just where to break to hurt me the most.

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.

Pushing out a breath, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. I sit beside her for as long as it takes. Listening until her sobs fade and the shower turns on.

Come to me in pieces and exist inside me whole.

I never knew hell would be so spick-and-span.

Instead of ignorance, I tasted what it might be like to finally be me. I didn’t give a show this time. I had no plan, no calculations. No scolding voice inside my head. For a little while, I was free.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman.

She wore her scars as her best attire. A stunning dress made of hellfire.

Art is a private piece of me.

There’s a reason we only hire blondes.

If the Great Spirit had desired me to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place. He put in your heart certain wishes and plans, and in my heart he put other and different desires. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.

May my heart always be open to little birds, who are the secrets of living. Whatever they sing is better than to know. And if men should not hear them – then men are old.

Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.

On the holy boughs of the Celestial Tree High up in the heavenly fields, Beyond terrestrial desire My soul-bird a warm nest has built.

Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.