Saturday, January 30, 2016

If broken wings could fly

Put the picture in a golden frame,
Gift me your blame,
Yet it wont ever become,
Once again the same,
See the worth of the picture,
Is not in the exteriour wrap,
Thats merely shopping spree crap,
Is worth the memorie that captured within,
An though it looks so picture perfect,
Aint it a fact,
That we aint ever where,
Mesen with these kind of smiles,
For the last sixty miles?
You can shred or burn,
Even return the frame,
But what will remain,
Is the gold you tried to cover up with,
The stain,
Of my death,
Not by a thousand cuts,
By a thousand rejections,
All from your reflections,
One to many,
One to more,
Your daughters bleeding heart,
On the kitchen floor,
Death by a thousand rejections,
For she'd never learned to look,
Across her imperfections.

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