The beauty of words that heals my soul.

In summer the empire of insects spreads.

Despair and Genius are too oft connected

Not all that have fallen are vanquished.

All of my insecuritiesshine in the dark.

Sweetest smile is made saddest tear-drop!

sometimes it's hard to knowwhat todo.

YOUR WORDS ARE MADE OF THE AIR I BREATHE.

osea, resumiendo, estoy jodido y radiante

Poems are never finished - just abandoned

e it peace or happinesslet it enfold you

Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.

You can't write a poem until you live.

my subconscious so full it must spill ove

A poet is somebody who has written a poem.