I am more broken than I seem to be. Because there is nothing to this goldening mask just lines of glass cutting through the ice of this soul. And it sits on my face to hide the pain. No eyes, not even my can bare to see. The mess that was once so clean. Angels Will never help my forgoten glow, it was lost in the sea cold. Now to I, death will never be old. Shall I be more broken than I seem.
By me