Where roses have withered,
In the wrath of broken hearts,
Where sunflowers don't seek for the sun,
but cast golden petals down,
Where secrets smiles are exchanged,
are the sullen faces of those who blamed,
Where laughter was found by the fire,
Is old shaking hands with burnt letters,
Where have all the romantics gone?

There are men that believe that they're made of gold,
then there are men that are golden,
whose light shines brighter than the sun,
the eyes promise you nothing but truth,
whose fingers trace every battle worn scar with nothing but awe.

You breathe words down my neck,
that there's no gold found on me,
that instead of gold my fingers leave dirt behind,
that my tangled hair reminds you of weeds in the garden,
that my legs are filled with bumps and scars,
that my stomach protrudes too far,
that my thighs are too robust,
that hair on my skin is only the devils invention.

The brown skin you press against,
is far from the vibrant soft metal of gold,
you'd remind me time and time again,
and I'm lucky that there's a fool looking for me.

In the heat of summer,
I thought I'd remember the sword forever,
amidst new memories will there linger,
the burn of a poker on my chest,
the rips in my skin,
blood racing down my thighs,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.

The brown leaves fall,
and the blood no longer leaves traces on skin,
the ghost of the sword is made of stainless steel,
nights filled with owls,
shadows in every room,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.

The cold winds grow,
no one to call, no one to hold,
the sword is sharp and cutting,
the storm weathers on,
rain on my windows,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin.

The flowers begin to grow,
the smell is sweet, a tempting promise,
the sword is rusted,
the blood has been washed from my skin,
every warm memory fills my mind,
remnants of the steel that pierced my skin,
gone at last.

I've been breaking and breaking again and again,
carbon glass split into pieces,
I don't know where I begin or end,
my throat is clogged and choked,
panic flows with tears down my face,
I count down the hours,
body near the sickly,
no one will notice when every bit of glass is finally gone.