She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.

I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole.

The tide has pulled the storm from my soul, again.

And that is the nature of us poets and whores, to make things hard: dicks, choices... life.

Sometimes love is nothing more than a sticky web; illusions spun from clever minds and bitter hearts.

She will blaze through you like a gypsy wildfire. Igniting you soul and dancing in its flames. And when she is gone, the smell of her smoke will be the only thing left to soothe you.