sitting in her room it's one in the morning
with blood on her sleeve
rocking in oblivion watching the darkness settle in
while the light leaves
crying out all the joy that filled her room
once before this day
inhaling charasmatics that seep in the viens
while the blood goes away

lacerating the pain
while divine secrets remain
shes soaked in a sane
memory she left behing
her soul is cluttered
but her heart's still fine
there is hope

she awaits the awaking bestow upon her
clarity a moment
obscure dissillusions leave a scar on her porcilin
her spirit is bent
ruby red lips remain unsacrade and boiled
they are hot and cold
one rebelious and immature child with memories of fear
her heart will fold

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