“Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.”

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.

She was only a collection of flaws and she was beautiful.

There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.

He opened her cages, and freed the things inside.

I’m wrong but I’m real.

Break me. Until there’s nothing left and I’ll be free.

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.

Failures often become art. And art can never fail.

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

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.