In the dead of night
When I open up the scab,
Revealing that which hides
In shadows of tears made of ice.
Behind the mask of daylight smiles
Layers of self that exist,
That boils a life that lives
And does the dance.
But nothing underneath
Is near to know
For the cover is only half.
Below lays the void
Of a demon with no wings.
She claws the dirt and flesh
That bleeds to bury herself even more.
And there, in the copper-scented void,
Is where half of the hidden stays in the pool.
For she is a devil with no wings,
Cause white doesn't glow so well as black.
