She doesn't trust easily, but when she does it's always with the devil himself.

You can only hurt a woman so many times before her fangs grow sharp, her claws scratch deep, and her eyes become blades.

It’s a disease, writing. Stalking its victim day and nightIn the mind all the timeWords StoriesPoemsThere is no single solitary cure but to keep writing.

Don't need a magic carpet to soar or wings to fly. I simply close my eyes and place my soul against the sky.

Learn to use your third eye and you’ll be able to see beyond the sky. There is no limit, except that which you impose upon yourself.

Be with someone who willingly runs in the storm with you, not someone who cowers away because of turbulent winds.

You taste like Strawberry starsOn my lips.

Such hungry desperation in a single kiss when it's enamored in love and bathed in bliss.

She is psychic a little voodoo magic soulful with cranberry lips eyes full of fantastic.