Insanity does not illuminate beauty in creativity, creativity illuminates beauty in insanity.

The first cut is the deepest after that its scarping scars snow flaked flesh frozen over blue unoxidized rivers.

I ought to stop falling in love with you, with little Australian girls, neighborhood boys in far-gone art schools, imagists confessing their love so inarticulately, beautiful recluses in striped shirts. You see I've built pedestals for strangers, and altars for moments. I framed your every exhalation (every one of you)and hung them on my glass ( Read more... )

If Death is your mother, you don't have to be afraid she'll ever refuse to embrace you.
If Death is your lover, you don't have to be afraid that he will ever leave you.

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Love is a makeshift altar.

I write things on my arms then abashed at their vulgarity color them hearts and stars. The pills use to make his skin inflame along the ballpoint's tracks, you could read his flesh with your fingertips.
And this, I'm explaining, "is why we can never love one another," and his flesh swells in my tracks and I color it hearts and stars.

Of coarse i wasn't crying until i realized i was bleeding.
i'm not afraid of pain, i'm afraid of blood.

Falling in love has and always will be far too masochistic for my taste.