Living like broken glass.

If there are rules, it’s still a game.

Each morning gives birth to a new universe.

Let your killers put flowers on your grave, and think this now makes them good people. No one brings back the dead.

Things we are not meant to choose; our talents, whom we love, and how long we live.

Sinking, as immune response to a malefic lover.

We are the storm.

Low tides in swelling hearts.

Dying is not difficult. Living is not difficult. Living a lie is difficult.

To love is to be alive.

A box full of flower dust & time.

On losing essence in aesthetics.

Don’t let them hijack your story, and turn it into theirs.

Commit to the beat of your own heart. All else turns.

You have to say it. If you don’t, be sure your enemies will.

Masking lack of compassion with sentiment.

Delirious, but accurate.

Love is at the point of contact.

Go towards what your heart desires, it will be delightful. Even the pain.

He’s entertaining because he keeps you guessing. But there’s no mystery, baby. Just a void, inside.

Whatever you think separates you, or elevates you, is contrary to the divine.

A thwarted ambition turns to envy.

Poetry is a way to voice feelings without losing them.