You peel my heart like it was an orange
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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...