we poets spend lives
writing praise and penances;
the wine of our souls.

The clouds are plastic,
Plastered to the sky,
Synthetic blue,
Fragile behind.

The sun is always burns,
Our tiny worlds turn,
We peer through mirrors
To gaze at our creation.

When the world gives you a choice.
The easy way,
Or love.
Choose love.
Always choose love.
There's something beautiful in the way a rose blooms through concrete.
There's something beautiful about the light surrounded by so much darkness.
You wouldn't know how to smile if you were happy all the time.
So love,
And lose,
And fall,
And cry.
And love,
And win,
And rise,
And smile.

Life is a knife in a gun fight,
But God at least you're fighting with something.

Love is like flying.
You could fall at any moment.
But the clouds are so beautiful up here.

you've got a lot to say
when you sigh
and you don't say anything
like:
you don't know what it's like
and:
you've too young to understand these things
you're being a fog that's settled at dawn
you're fighting the urge to lay down and yawn
you like to sleep
only for the hell of it
i like to sleep
so i can dream
dreams of sighs that say everything,
a glance that radiates what your thoughts sing
a moment where all things feel invincible
where it all comes into place
you don't say anything at all