She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.

I hope that someday when I am gone, someone, somewhere, picks my soul up off of these pages and thinks, "I would have loved her.

She will blaze through you like a gypsy wildfire. Igniting you soul and dancing in its flames. And when she is gone, the smell of her smoke will be the only thing left to soothe you.

Life is just a slide. Back and forth between loving and leaving, remembering and forgetting, holding on and letting go.

I kept you so well, buried beneath the darkest shame and stilled with filthy lies. Perhaps I should have dug deeper.

I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole.

I am a world of uncertainties disguised as a girl.

I have licked the fire and danced in the ashes of every bridge I ever burned. I fear no hell from you.

There are many things you can lie your way through; poetry is not one of them.