To fall in love with pain is to fall in love with art.

I found you in our truth. Running sideways for a broken muse who loved strangers as much as alcohol.

Sometimes he does talk back, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he’s not there; and from time to time I believe this was all nothing but imaginary.

My muse is six feet, a hundred and ninety pounds and cradles my soul in his arms without knowing it.

Masochists hold on to broken people. Artists hold on to broken memories.