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Summer looks the same. But last summer she loved me.

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Couple Love Myself Relationship Summer

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Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.
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She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.
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She was only a collection of flaws and she was beautiful.
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Beautiful Collection Flaw Herself
Poems are a nice way of saying fuck you.
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Romance is a dream. I can get better shit at the liquor store.
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Alcohol Dreams Myself Romance
There’s this thing that hurts inside me all the time. Because I know what’s coming.
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Hurt Myself Time
True love is letting her know that her ass really does look fat in those jeans.
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She’s like a jar of butterflies, waiting to be opened.
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Butterfly Herself Open Wait
Women are beautiful. But some are made of hell.
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He opened her cages, and freed the things inside.
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Cage Freedom Myself Open
I’m wrong but I’m real.
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Failures often become art. And art can never fail.
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She’s like turning on the radio and hearing a brand new song.
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A lot of ugly people hide behind beautiful eyes. A lot of things are only lies.
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Beautiful Hide Lying People
Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.
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She was a broken sky, where stars never shine and butterflies die.
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Break Butterfly Death Shine Sky

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