My life might be in the streets, but my heart is gold. And together, I’m a street of gold.
Which is colder, the hand or the gun?
Love has no fear, willing to take on anyone. But how much we fear love!
We all have our own road to walk. Whether rocky, curving, straight or smooth, what good is a lonely road? It’s when we run and intersect with other roads that defines our road. When road meets road do we get direction, and choices to cross into another life.
The papers say we’re married, but it’s the heart that writes the love story.
God is the light bulb, to where faith is the light switch.
And she looked upon the mirror that was given as a gift. She hated everything about it, from the circular size of it, to the color, and the wooden frame that held it in place. But mostly, she hated looking at herself. Especially into this one that had a scratch on its glass surface, which would reflect back to her face. And as she looked, it would cut her as the words her father would often say, in telling her she was ugly.
Some people are severely lonely, all they can do is accept the single life as an example of being free and happy.
Do not feed your motives, just feed the bears.
She had died, I just never told her. So still, we walk, eat and sleep together, in fear one day she’ll come to realize it.
My love, my love, is a flame in the dark covered in glass. So glowingly beautiful to others on the outside, while slowly suffocating inside.
If you are reading this, be sure to count this on your blessings list.
Sometimes it’s better for a struggling writer to stay single, than to keep hearing, “Oh, your a writer, and you need to spend time in writing? Then go marry your writing!
Love is like a match to a wick. It takes that right combination to strike a flame. But once the flame is there, it can either give warmth, die out or burn your world to ashes. Even kill you. It’s how you sustain the flame, feed it, and moderate the amount of energy in balance.
She’s my pride, my winning prize, always a surprise, to look into her eyes, see her free soul, as soap that slips from the grip of control; a stroll through the park on a dark night with stars to spark the sky, heaven with no price tag I realize, love is the same: endless, priceless, full bliss; to have this princess I pinch myself thinking this is a dream, but to my reprise, I can only say I am now, at last, alive.
Distance can make a love fade, while closeness can make hate flare; as distance can make hate fade, while closeness can make love flare.
It’s better to look at a black and white world, rather than black and blue.
She says:... love is really all that matters. He hears:... really love to do it on the mattress.
Down the road of hate, at every busted corner lurks the need for love.
A smile will go the mile, while a frown will take you down.