“It’s funny how love fades, and they become more than a poem about yesterday.”

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.

It wasn’t forever. But I loved her until I hated her.

When I’m faded I forget, I forget what you mean to me. I hope you know what you mean to me.

Experience had taught me that even the most precious memories fade with the passage of time.

The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world. Lies will pass into history.

Beauty fades. Your spirit is forever.

In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go.

Night, when words fade and things come alive.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

It’s better to fade away like an old soldier than to burn out.