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

She’s no rose. But in her I see the beauty of thorns.

There’s this thing that hurts inside me all the time. Because I know what’s coming.

Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.

Failures often become art. And art can never fail.

Poems are a nice way of saying fuck you.

Always falling but not for anything.

We search for meaning. And destroy it.

She was simple. Like a poem, and always dressed in sunshine.

She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.

A lot of ugly people hide behind beautiful eyes. A lot of things are only lies.

I never drink in the morning. Mornings are for drugs.

She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.

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

Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.

She’s like a jar of butterflies, waiting to be opened.

Sometimes I wonder if these rain soaked shoes will get me home.

When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?

You never know how long you have with someone, so don’t forget to say I love you while you can.

The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.

I’m with you. No matter what else you have in your head I’m with you and I love you.

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said.

I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen.

The ones that love us never really leave us.

There’s a million reasons why I should give you up. But the heart wants what it wants.