We hurt so much because we have lost a part of ourselves. If we have loved much, we must have given much also, and when everything's over, we feel as though we have lost everything.

No, you were certainly not trying to seduce me, more like trying to wound my ego, break my heart, I dunno. Did you like how you felt when you walked away? Do you prefer that emotion to this?

I sit there on the floor with the picture in front of me and think about how things get broken all the time by accident, and how sometimes you just don't get round to getting them fixed.

We are all broken in some way. But it’s all the shattered pieces that give us depth. Like stained glass, it’s how the pieces and colors fit together that truly makes us beautiful.

I'll use the blood from my spilling heart to write the words that were never able to slip out of my mouth, so you can see how much you've broken me into a perpetual state of melancholy.

I tried to gather all the pieces… I picked each one and fixed them so perfectly. No one could say that I was broken once, unless they see my hands, lacerated by the splinters of my heart.

We look back on our life as a thing of broken pieces, because our mistakes and failures are always the first to strike us, and outweigh in our imagination what we have accomplished and attained.

I carefully choose people in my life and if you are not happy with it, then its your call to be angry, broken, disappointed and lose sleep over my choice, judgement & decision... no apologies.

I tried to gather all the pieces… I picked each one and fixed them so perfectly. No one could say that I was broken once but they saw my hands, lacerated by the splinters of my heart…

Love is as simple as the absence of self given to another. God, when invited, fills the void of any unrequited love; hence loving is how one is drawn closer to God no matter its most horrific repercussions.

To heal our world we must be silent; willing to listen to the roars of the wounded. We must teach eachother how to feel, only than can an entire nation grow in peace, as the war within will slowly diminish.

God knows we’re all drawn toward what’s beautiful and broken; I have been, but some people cannot be fixed. Or if they can be, it’s only by love and sacrifice so great it destroys the giver.

And this is what being an artist means, being a poet? To sacrifice yourself for your art, sacrifice your heart for your art, because it’s only through something broken that something beautiful can grow.

Lately I find myself staring at people’s faces... I find myself frantically searching through the crowds for one face. I don’t find that face; I cry inside. Weeping for the identity I know no more.

Carved deep into my veins but didn't bleedOverdosed on sleeping pills but didn't sleepWhen your heart is heavy, it gets increasingly harder to breatheClearly there's a GodBut why has he forsaken me?