Most memories are like beautiful ribbons,
But mine are like tiny pieces of glass
I try to hold them gently, But they always make me bleed

A lonely tree, a tree without its branches,  
Stands in a forest laced with hidden trenches.
  
With every ache, another leaf falls down,  
A breeze picks up and goes without a sound.
  
A forest, so big but yet so detached,  
Where the beauty is seen and pain unmatched.

I was never the villain,
The story was just never told
Like it was me who needed a hand to hold