To feel alone is an emotion that destroys
everything
          you
                  are.
Makes you lose yourself, forget who you are and
why
            your
                     alive.
Let all take their shape and don't
fear
          the
                            extraneous.
Step out of the concealed box and free yourself from the pain that controls you.
Speak never of the impossible, for it may be the death of you.
Peer deeper into your entity so you may believe
in
         love
                    again.
Find a love that consumes
you
         with
                     passion.
Hold onto hope, for it will be the
path
         to
                           happiness.
Take into consideration, your humanity.

Never let the world bring you down,

Your Beautiful.

The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.

There’s a little wooden house on the corner with a beautiful garden in the front.

It always ropes in the attention of the whole town when spring comes along.

The main attraction is a garden in the front with a small batch of roses.

These roses are beautiful with different shades of red coloring the vivid green bush it’s sprouting from.

But there’s one small purple rose amongst a bed of red, just a bit off to the right.

No one pays attention to this purple rose because of  all the other red ones.

The purple rose is fragile and beautiful looking with frail looking petals making it unnoticed.

The lady that owns the little wooden house allows you to pick the roses just as long as you don’t hurt yourselves from the thorns.

No one dares pick the purple rose cause of the rigid and thorned spine it has.

I have a go at the chance to pick the purple rose. I reach out my arm as I grabbed the thorny spine of the rose.

Holding the spine with the fullness of palm, my hand sprouting out with the blood of countless mistakes and regrets.

But this, this was never a mistake that has ever been. It was an accomplishment that no one has ever dwelled upon.

My hand hurts with the blood coursing from the center of my palm running all the way down to my elbow.

Tears start to arise on the horizon of my eyes and a small crooked smile starts to wry on the side of my face.

I am happy, and filled with joyous emotions, emotions that I can never ever fathom of experiencing.

The magnificent purple looking rose resting in the palm of my blood encrusted hand.

**“Her favorite color is purple…”

Hello Autumn,

it's been one whole year since I've last seen you

So you're back

but she's not

Put me in darkness.
Put me in cold.
Mind melts from madness.
Leaving me sold.

Take away the crazy.
Take away the light.
Eyes strain from image.
Leaves me to fright.

Grip my reality.
Gripping my mind.
Out of the cesspool.
Nothing left behind.

Diving down further.
Diving down deep.
Under the covers.
Put me to sleep.