in bed with darkness because beauty is sold out and black is honest

my heart is such a weary place at times, worn down to the bare vessels, muscles stripped away. aches and half-beats. i don't always know how it continues beating.

Well, look at that. There were still pieces left to break after all.

perhaps the angels cry not from loneliness merely from the weight of their wings

it’s not that the dreamers have their head in the clouds we just refuse to stay rooted to the ground

how else can we give our heart but in pieces

it needn’t be perfect but it should always be thorough

the beauty lies in our differences the beauty lies in our willingness to accept them