A hanging thread of breakable ends
She was the spectacle of the carnival from hell
The belle of the lonely ball
Her face is the tail end of dreams once pure
Broken smiles painting tears in the clear skies
But her hands,
Oh her hands!
I pray they hold me close
For they unravel the sands of time
Speaking to me, quite insincerely,
About a past  uncertain of its fate
And of a girl intoxicated with the promises
Of empty tomorrows
Awaking her up more broken each day