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She wanted romance. I just wanted to fuck the stars out of her eyes.

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Eyes Myself Romance Sex Stars

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We search for meaning. And destroy it.
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Destroy Meaning Philosophy Search
Failures often become art. And art can never fail.
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Art Failure Myself Wisdom
She’s no rose. But in her I see the beauty of thorns.
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Beautiful Herself Myself Rose See
She was simple. Like a poem, and always dressed in sunshine.
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Herself Poem Simplicity Sunshine
A lot of ugly people hide behind beautiful eyes. A lot of things are only lies.
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Beautiful Hide Lying People
She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.
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Broken Heart Herself
Women are beautiful. But some are made of hell.
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Beautiful Hell Woman
It’s funny how love fades, and they become more than a poem about yesterday.
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Fade Love Past Poem
She’s like a jar of butterflies, waiting to be opened.
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Butterfly Herself Open Wait
Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.
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Heart Herself Memories
There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.
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Beautiful Hell Herself Shine Strange
I never drink in the morning. Mornings are for drugs.
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Drink Drugs Morning Myself
Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.
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Break Up Heart Herself Summer
With her, the world becomes art.
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Art Herself World
She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.
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Artist Myself Poetry Sex
It wasn’t forever. But I loved her until I hated her.
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Forever Hate Love Myself

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