My Heart Bleeds Poetry

What qualities do you admire in someone else?

I was in love with the idea, not the man. And in the end, ideas stay with us longer than any man ever could.

I don’t think I ever really loved you the right way. But then again you never really loved me at all.

"I often have to remind myself that you're not a part of my life anymore."

"I often wonder . . . was it love that changed me, or was it heartbreak?"

"I sometimes forget that you're not really mine."

"I'd rather fly from Hell than fall from Heaven."

“Listen, I - ” I turn to him, eyes ablaze with fury, hands clasped into fists as a current of conflicting moments and broken chances cloud over my memory. “Listen? I’ll listen to you when you’ve proven to me you’re worth listening to.” A chance to turn. A chance he breaks with a desperate kiss - and in those lingering seconds of utter bliss, everything in our world was rightly proven.

I looked up at him, and my breath was swiftly caught by the brilliant jade of his eyes. The honesty in those depths enraptured me, and I felt as though the man in front of me - the beautiful stranger - held all my secrets on the palm of his hands; guarding, protecting, and healing their broken edges.

There’s a river on the edge of the galaxy, where stars flow and shimmer, where the sun begins and ends, and life sparks where Time treads.

People often say the phrase “if looks could kill” as though it holds no real truth to it. Yet, when I saw the way you looked at her - at the love filled yearning on your face; the sweetness and all its ever earnest tenderness - in that moment, I knew . . . looks are the most torturous of kills.

Sometimes the things we want in life are just not the things Life wants for us.

“Why did you run away … from me?” “I didn’t want you to realise how broken I was - how many nightmares I carried. I didn’t want those nightmares tainting your dreams.” Silence - the hands of Time suspended in the air. Then came the withering chime - the last goodbye. “You should have trusted my dreams to chase away your nightmares.”

Hope and Serendipity walked hand in hand pass the gates of Fate’s design.

It was not fire that held her head high against her sufferings. It was air, building and rising, setting her hair on ends like a halo surrounding her. It is air that we need to survive, and looking at her then, with the blood marring her clothes, and death tainting her flesh … She was a warrior queen, wielding air as her weapon, ready to suffocate the cruelties of her enemies.

When will I stop bleeding my heart out for you … ?