A revolver is) just a tool, really, like stapler. A stapler that punch through a person. Pin them. Drive blunt metal through flesh and bone.
Poems should be like pins which prick the skin of boredom and leave a glow equal in its pride to the gate of the sadist who stuck the pin and walked away
We swallowed the chaos because we knew we didn't want to be ordinary.
It was never about the world being too big, it was more like she was too much for the world to handle.
Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself.
She was broken from moment to moment, watching her world collide she felt lost inside herself. She fell apart for a passion that flamed beneath her. She waited and died a hundred times, it dripped fro...
If I lived a million lives, I would've felt a million feelings and I still would've fallen a million times for you.
She was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.
To love is to soar in the wild unexpectedly.
The seed of our love will always cube within the wonder of infinite.
Sometimes those we love break us to bind us whole within the transition.