“We are only beautiful monsters, dreaming of god.”

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.

Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.

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.

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.

You’re an artist. Beauty grows in you.

Because one thing God gave us- and I’m afraid it’s at times a little too much- is freewill. Freedom to choose. I believe he gave us everything needed to build a beautiful world, if we choose wisely.

Inside each one of us is a beautiful flower garden. This is the garden of the soul. With each lesson we learn, the garden grows. As we learn together, our individual gardens form a tranquil paradise.

I’ve never thought of my jewelry as trophies. I’m here to take care of it and to love it, for we are only temporary custodians of beauty.

Wherever you go, go with inspiration and aspiration. Whatever you do, do with love and concern. Whomever you see, see with purity’s beauty And responsibility’s glory.

I’ve been out with some extremely beautiful women who have had no sex appeal whatsoever. It really is a lot more than skin deep.

I just hope people see that if God can do something beautiful with my broken pieces, then God truly has a plan for each and everyone of us.

A frowning face can’t bring out the beauty that you are.