Random texts, confused conversation,
and practically dying of this anticipation.
Secret glances, embarrassed blushing ,
and trying to calm the heart that's rushing.

Still life portraits to hide the real life pain,
because many times art is a reflection
of what is and isn't meant to be.

He was 16 Trying to be
The perfect guy
Trying to make
Someone understand
How addicted he was
To self destruction
To sadness to the feeling
Of a cold blade
Of an empty stomach
There was nothing
He could say
He could only
Sit in his room
And dream about dying

Your memory is a bittersweet melody
That is stuck in my skull
The bitter reminder of it being over
But the sweet remembrance of your soft kiss.

Home isn't man made walls,
It is
Two beautiful eyes
Gazing into mine
Across the room
The soft touch of your lips
As we silently kiss
At four in the morning
And drift back to sleep
Tangled up
In one another.
It is your fingers laced
Through mine
As the promise of forever
Lies peacefully
In our clasped palms.
Our loving arms.

Home is
The gentle beat
Of your heart.

Never have I felt as alone as when you're beside me.