5.57am and I’m finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn’t get much easier.

— Charlotte Eriksson

6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was tenor what day it is now. Blurred out lines from hangovers to coffee another vagabond lost to love.

— Charlotte Eriksson

6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was tenor what day it is now. Blurred out lines from hangovers to coffee Another vagabond lost to love.4am alone and on my way. These are my finest moments. I scrub my Shinto rid me from you and I still don’t know why I cried. It was just something in the way you took my heart and rearranged my insides and I couldn’t recognize the emptiness you left me with when you were done. Maybe you thought my insides would fit better this way, look better this way, to you and us and all the rest. But then you must have changed your minor made a wrong because why did you leave?6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was tenor what day it is now. I replace cafés with crowded bars and empty roads with broken bottle sand this town is healing me slowly but still not slow or fast enough because there’s no right way to do this. There is no right way to do this. There is no right way to do this.

— Charlotte Eriksson

A big group of daily friends or a white painted house with bills and mirrors, are not a necessity to me—but an intelligent conversation while sharing another coffee, is.

— Charlotte Eriksson

All I wanted was my art and the chance to be the creator of my own world, my own reality.

— Charlotte Eriksson

All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me, and be okay with that. I had no need for material possessions, money or even close friends with me on my journey. I never understood people very well anyway, and they never seemed to understand me very well either. All I wanted was my art and the chance to be the creator of my own world, my own reality. I wanted the open road and new beginnings every day.

— Charlotte Eriksson

Am I making something worthwhile? I’m not sure. I write, and I sing, and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts, but am I making something worthwhile? I’m not sure. There was a boy last night who I never spoke to because I was too drunk and still shy, but mostly lonely, and I couldn’t find anything lightly to say, so I simply walked away but still wondered what he did with his life because he didn’t even speak to Moor look at debut still made me wonder who he was and I walked away asking Am I'm making something worthwhile? I am not sure. I am a complicated person with a simple life and I am the reason for everything that ever happened to me.

— Charlotte Eriksson

An artist must be passionately in love with her art. Obsessed or possessed ― go mad for what you believe in.

— Charlotte Eriksson

... and I realize the only way to tell the others is through the way my voice can take these broken word sand turn it into music. Turn it into poetry. And I sing to make myself come alive, but also for you, because I’d like this to mean something. To not disappear with the dark I will enter one day and so now I will tell. If not for you, then for my own heart, because it tells me to, and I'm learning to listen.

— Charlotte Eriksson

... and isn't the world a treasure in itself? A spectacle glittering every single day, without a concern if anyone's watching or not. It simply goes on, elegantly, letting nature have its way. We only need to open our eyes to witness the biggest masterpiece ever created, the ticket is already in your hand.

— Charlotte Eriksson