I wanted my work to mean something. I guess everyone that creates something wants a person to look at it, read it, admire it, and wonder what life would have been like had they not come across it.
  Like a French film with no subtitles, but you see the woman in red, and you see the way she looks at him, from across the room, and you know, you just know that she is somewhere between being in lust and in love with him. And it is heavy, and powerful, and it is all red. You know they are going to ****, or make love, or marry each other and live till they are ninety. You know that glance means something, and maybe if you had not have noticed it, you would never know what an affair of love could look like.
  It matters.
  I want it to matter.

its cold outside and i cant stop thinking about how warm your arms were last winter and the white breath you exhaled after inhaling toxicity and the hat you lost to the wind on the top of that bridge and your warm lips on my cold nose and how you told me that even if snow fell from the sky it wouldn't fall from the ground but you were wrong because since you left my worlds been upside down instead of right side up and i found your hat in the pocket of my jacket before i left it outside for the wind to take back and the toxicity left from you still resides inside of me and i think your arms no longer hold warmth

your tongue down his throat stabbed my spine
and your fingers in his hair tore the veins in my wrist
you smell like his cologne and i want to stick ******* down my throat
when your hands intertwine like vines on a gravestone
remember me six feet under

he told me my hair smelt like campfire
only so he could burn me to the ground

☆She's such a mess,
Wrapped in glitter,
Like this dark sky,
Wrapped in stars.☆

this city wraps me in cellophane,
i can never breathe right.
its harsh winds and harsh words beat me.
i wake up to the sounds of grinding metal.
i can't escape, as our unrequited love will never end.
the city that hates me for loving it.
the city i hate to love.
this city will always be black and white,
not to be softened by the innocence of color.
it must remain strong.
i must remain strong.
i must clock in and clock out.
enslaved in a life i never wanted to live.
in a city i never imagined i'd love.
trapped in a cellophane life,
in a cellophane city.

the haunted house looked too much like your ribcage.
the rides only reminded you that you're not scared of dying.
your lips looked so beautiful while they pouted around cotton candy you pretended to eat.
i look at you and my whole body feels like a roller coaster.
i just want you to be okay and i don't know if you can be.

Sunrises make a promise every morning that the Sun is here to stay, but at night it just leaves again. The Sunrise is a lie. At least the Sunset is honest.

i remember sitting beneath the sunset with you. i watched the sunset past your face. it looked more beautiful to me by the minute. the sky was as dark as it gets before the moment of complete nightfall, hued in shades of purple and blue and pink, from streetlights and phosphorescence and the world past its closed horizons.
i remember sitting with nothing but silence between us, because all night "Goodbye" tried to find my lips from where it was stuck in my throat like a pill that wouldn't go all the way down. so i pushed it farther down with every sip of my drink.

A flower was offered to me;
Such a flower as May never bore.
But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree.
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:
And her thorns were my only delight.