"I didn't marry the devil.
The devil married me."

Isn't it weird?
She's bursting with happiness, and yet her first thought was,
"Is this normal?"

"I read them all one day
when loneliness came,
and you were away.
Oh they told me nothing new
But I love to read
the words you used."

"He fought so hard to lose his demons, yet he'll willingly invite all of hers over."

"the sky is so tragically beautiful. a graveyard of stars, because all stars blow up."

"When you're all alone, even devils seem to be friendly."

He had just taken her for granted for her light was always there

Because you never thank the ground until you know how it feels to fall

Or just how much you need the sun until it doesn't rise at all

I'm broken but I still want to write poems on your skin with my lips.

Our backs
have stories
no books have the spine to carry and
Our minds cannot be trapped in between the lines of a notebook
Because people are not poetry

"I've been both the flowing water
and the stone that blocks its way
I've been frozen, I've been molten,
And I'll be again someday
Though I've been a billion things,
this is the first one that can smile
I'm pieces of the universe
Living as human for a while."

A violin player:
Plays a song
Builds a smile
She seems okay and
Strums denial
'Practice makes perfect'
With a bow of "I'm fine"
Choose your performance and sing a lie
And upon that hill
Tie your voice
Pull on violin strings
Self-destruction such a beautiful thing

A demon once told me that:
"If you don't heal what hurt you,
you'll bleed on people who didn't cut you."

I could set the world on fire and call it rain.

But that wouldn't be fun, would it?

Anxiety is a LOT like a toddler

It never stops talking

Tells you you're wrong about everything

And wakes you up at 3 a.m.

Imagine writing the most depressing poem,
written with the most beautiful handwriting
but no one is really focused on it.
Everyone is more focused on how the handwriting is so perfect.
Sometimes, we tend to lose ourselves,
concentrating on the irrelevance of something
more meaningful.

Some extroverts talk so much but say so little

Some introverts talk so little but say so much

"I still wonder if I rebuilt myself
with the right pieces
or if I'll never truly be myself again.
I wonder if I'm made by bits of the people I've met."

She wore her heart on her sleeves,
unaware that he had scissors.