The tears that prick her eyes,
Never differ from the prick of a rose,
The burning desire of love is always deceiving,
As is the passionate beauty of this peace offering.
The scent of stereotypical love,
So bitter sweet, luring her closer to your heart,
Hypnotizing her into a fairytale, with a disastrous end.
When the last petal falls and hearts begin to break,
She can feel a fool for leaping in,
Where she once hoped she would be able to fly,
Fly on the wings of love,
High, high like a bird in the sky.
But she falls,
Lives wishing she never fell,
Because she only falls faster and deeper in love,
She chokes back the lumps in her throat,
Not sure why it makes her want to die.
And then she sits.
A psychiatrist to herself,
Reminiscing her own love tragedy,
She wakes the next morning,
Only to find she's alone,
It wasn't a nightmare,
The chunk of her heart is still missing,
And she remains hurting because she knows the love of her life is out there,
But waking up with someone else,
The wrong person.
And as she holds out her hand in hope he'll save her soul,
Her hallucination turns to dust, left only to touch the invisible,
Gently caresses what her heart has made believed,
"Gentle isn't always something you touch, but something you do" she insists,
Rocking away her insanity,
She felt a piece of her Heaven,
She never wanted to let it go,
Was it her fault?
Did she love too much?
Question after question, never answered.
And again, it all seems so insignificant,
Nothing was ever what it seemed.
She thinks they don't know she exists,
She kids herself they haven't fallen in love with her smile,
And she denies the tension, only lying to herself.
So stick another needle in her heart,
And bleed her dry.
Poison only her mind,
And be spiteful only to her own soul,
Spit on her remaining pride,
But never forget,
That she will remember to love,
On the remaining shatters of her window.
