If we are simply energy, neither created or destroyed, and if a body is just a body, celestial or not, why don’t you come over here and we will make collisions out of moments.
You can tell a lot about a person by listening to the way they talk about someone they once loved.
Standing on the doorstep of desire, I hold this bouquet like a gun and these vows like a petition for the death penalty.
The listlessness of it all, the profit off depression, the extinction of an entire species, the chlorinated connections- poisoned just to appear clean.
What I mean is you make the world less ugly just by living in it.
The Smiths dream into my ear on this lost and lonely morning. I sing along like it is the only prayer I know (forgive me, Mother Mary).
Hurricanes are named after people, baby, and I hope you know that falling in love with me will be so much more treacherous than boarding up the windows and waiting for me to pass.
And all the while I thought I was drowning, I was actually the one holding my head under the water.
I have imprinted on you and all those miles between us only keep us apart because we let them.
Loving him is like trying to hold onto an armful of balloons. Maybe I need someone to come along and pop them.
The love we shared is a paper town on a map we drew ourselves, drunk and fucked and needing to be more than we were.
It occurred to me that love, simply stated, is replacing the need to always be right with the need to be understanding.
Don’t ever let anyone keep your heart on a shelf just to take it down whenever it is convenient for them to feel.
Blood banks are all closed; you can’t use others to keep you warm.
My favorite nightcap, after all this time, is still the cocktail of you.
If only I had known then the speed with which she could die, maybe I wouldn’t have become the hemlock.
We’re so infatuated with studying labels that we forget to read between the lines of one another.
I lie and tell you I had a dream about you last night, so it makes it more socially acceptable to reach out to someone I haven’t spoken to in years.
The moonlight melts into lace across your thighs. Unbridled passion, an Elliott Smith vinyl, and the intimate place of you.
Are you using your pain as an excuse or as a source of strength?
This is not new territory. Stop lights like lullabies write my eulogy.
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