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You peel my heart like it was an orange

Slowly, bitterly, coldly...

And on broken ribs-petals, love you try to guess

Loves me...loves me not....

A frail hand tigtens on the quill


And lets it fall, tainted by blood


In my skull, a cage, a butterfly tries to escape

Wings fall, wings rise, wings die.

Frightened, the child looks at the sky through the windows,

Two broken lights that died eons ago.

I see myself through your eyes, blue mirrors

I, strange building with a mad architect,

I'd like to be something, other than I am.

Bu what am I, the ruin, the soul in a bowl of clay...


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The following comments are for "The world is ash and your tears can only make it mud"
by Dew Of Blood

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