Trickling down my arms,
Are my tears from the wastelands
And broken fragile dreams.
I was lost and still, I'm wandering,
Looking for hope which was just a myth.
My head hurts—my chest, my soul,
How I wish this wouldn't be for evermore.
I always pick up my shattered pieces
From the palace of my life's shadows.
The sharpest daggers disguised as flowers
Are given to me in myriad bouquets.
With all the cuts, bruises and slashes
Inflicted on my glass soul,
I want to drown myself in my tears
As they always leave me like overflowing rivers.
My blood stains the road I take,
And my feet are now weary and tired.
Thorns and mirrors block my path,
Placed there by my demons
And the self-proclaimed angels.
I also want to be an angel,
But I don't want to be a liar.