and here you are living, despite it all.

It's easier not to feel. Then I wouldn't have to feel like this.

i am “fake it 'til you make it” in a can and you have a calmness that i could never understand

i'll never give up, i'll never give in 'til i'm bloody and bruised 'til i've broken my bones 'til i won't be abused 'til i'm laughing alone

i used to think i would tell stories but nobody cared for the stories i had about no good guys

Brooklyn's too cold tonight & all my friends are three years away. My mother told me I could be anything I wanted — but I chose to live.

I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me.

“Think it'll hurt?” I ask as another three stars shudder & fall away. You grip my hand tighter. “Hope not.”

You? You can’t save anybody, Sara.

November—with uncanny witchery in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills.

Don't make a noise, don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you.

You think Achilles was of impressive descent? Touch me one more time.

you play with your lighter. we stand under the lamppost. in three months we'll be going different places as fast as our legs can take us. right now, the summer is too young to have a name. so we stand there. i'm in love with you and i have been since middle school math class.

i know that i ended it, but why won't you chase after me? you know me better than i do, so why didn't you stop me?

i am your late night TV addiction i am the reason you can't pay attention i'm the only girl that could ever love you

well, i went through my list of friends and found i had no one to tell of this overwhelming clean feeling strange serenity

i can’t love anyone, oh, not in this economy passion is a setting sun unless i win the lottery i’m mocking action just for fun, it turns a sweet wound salty i can’t love anyone

I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way, and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way. But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.

You say I killed you — Haunt me, then.