Everyone needs a house to live in, but a supportive family is what builds a home.
The paint is drying, and time is dying. The pain is crying, lying on my back, trying to get back the time, to brushstrokes too fast, wet went dry and love went dull; now I live in a portrait I never painted.
I could say the world is ending tomorrow, and no one would care. I could say the world will go forever, and no one would care. I could write words, words, words of hope, of love, of humanity, of peace, of pain and the world will still spin to unchanged tomorrows. The human heart balled up as a fist, just grows old clenching to life, to pride and ego, it won't let go. But the words slip through, as the last pump of blood to a lost web of veins.
It's not what you have on the outside that glitters in light, it's what you have on the inside that shines in the dark.
Seems just yesterday, I ran with the sun on my face. Time slipped away. Now I limp with the moon lurking at my back.
Rather than turning the page, it's much easier to just throw the book away.
There will always be haters. And the more you grow the more they hate; the more they hate the more you grow.
A beautiful world with ugly people; an ugly world with beautiful people. We never can never win.
Too often, we love for the wrong reasons, when we think the right one comes along.
A ghost has all the time to reach for love, but never can. As a human has little time to reach for love, and never does.