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

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He opened her cages, and freed the things inside.
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Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.
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She was only a collection of flaws and she was beautiful.
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Beautiful Collection Flaw Herself
We are only beautiful monsters, dreaming of god.
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Beautiful Dreams God Monster
Break me. Until there’s nothing left and I’ll be free.
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Break Freedom Myself
Failures often become art. And art can never fail.
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Art Failure Myself Wisdom
Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.
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I messed up a lot of things. I called it poetry.
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Call Mess Myself Poetry
Love lives. and dies. as fast as butterflies.
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Death Fast Fly Live Love
It’s funny how love fades, and they become more than a poem about yesterday.
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Fade Love Past Poem
With her, the world becomes art.
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Art Herself World
In an endless universe, she needed space.
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Herself Need Space Universe
Overcoming guilt, its the first step to doing it again.
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Deep Guilty Let Go Repeat
Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.
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Forget Heart Night Poetry Try Wound Yourself
She could be anything. But she’s just a girl with a broken heart.
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Broken Heart Herself
She was an artist on top of me, and soaked my sheets with poetry.
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Artist Myself Poetry Sex

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