And God said love your enemy and I obeyed him and loved myself.

Our life always expresses the result of our dominant thoughts.

How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?

There's a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.

They fear of finding oneself alone, that is what they suffer from and so they don't find themselves at all.

You are a language I'm no longer fluent in but still remember how to read.

I will sin just for sin's sake.

A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.

Real love doesn't meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess.

The true measure of a man isn't what he reveals to the world but what he hides from it.

So I wrote to her.
Letters I never sent.
Letters I threw in the gutter or flushed away.

Poets never dress for winter.
But winter to them is no harm, for a poet's heart keeps him warm.

No matter where and when,
the classics always work.

He's been writing poetry and it made him nuts.

All wrapped up in your sad little stories, feeding off each other's misery.

I've kissed more bottles than people and honestly, a hangover hurts less than a heartbreak.

And not even love was the answer.

You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee and poetry.

The finest souls are those who gulped pain and avoided making others taste it.

In our obsession with original sin, we too often forget original innocence.

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.