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

I’m just a daydream. I don’t even know what I really am.

She was a broken sky, where stars never shine and butterflies die.

She wanted love. So I fed her, inch by inch.

She’s like turning on the radio and hearing a brand new song.

We are only beautiful monsters, dreaming of god.

She’s just a girl. But her pussy makes me see god.

I gave her address to my soul. Ans she fucked the mailman.

I liked her simplicity. She wanted coffee and orgasms.

In an endless universe, she needed space.

I messed up a lot of things. I called it poetry.

Overcoming guilt, its the first step to doing it again.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.

I wake to find her there, with glowing eyes and tangled hair. She is my sunrise.

Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.

True love is letting her know that her ass really does look fat in those jeans.

If there’s never been a restraining order, it ain’t love.

Better that one heart be broken a thousand times in the retelling, he has decided, if it means that a thousand other hearts need not be broken at all.

Broken hearts are what new dreams are made of.

I can turn heartbreak into songs that help other people.

All my movies are achingly personal.

Thank you so much for breaking my heart because you got me four Grammys.

If one does not attach himself to people and desires, never shall his heart be broken. But then, does he ever truly live?

Heartache is my constant companion, and we’re perfect for one another. Two co-dependent peas in a pod. My past and my future.

Maybe an image is worth 1000 words, but some words are worth 10,000 tears.