I keep hearing your dissatisfaction with life when you cry
We were never ripe, were we?
Do I taste the same to you now that we’ve expired?
Would you look into my eyes and tell me it was all going to be okay?
I want that back.
The opposite of butterflies
is the hive, dead in your stomach.
Loving you is getting into bed after a long day at work.
The road to hell is paved with good poems. The road to heaven is also probably paved with good poems.
We used to laugh together
Sometimes I feel like I’m chasing a dream, a vision of the past, where you and me were one person
Reading Brynn’s poetry is like reading the diary you never took the time to write.