Flowers grow through cracks
Cracks in the wall
Where bare brick has been torn apart by bare storms
Or steel ripped apart by a hurricane of grief
Cracks in the pavement
Where some people refuse to step
In the fear of some supernatural supernova
Descending from the heavens and ripping their mind apart
Cracks grow in places where there is nobody to keep them from becoming brittle
Things snap when they're left for too long
Like sticks and bodies and minds
That have had enough of casual use
Of beatings and bricks and careful abuse

Pain is beautiful
Is that what they told you?
Be proud of those wounds and gashes you painted
Show them to the world because your pain is beautiful
Did it feel beautiful?
When it was four in the morning and you were staring at your ceiling
Wondering how everything had spiralled in iridescent lines
What a beautiful thing it is, to fall
To fall from that crumbling platform you built for yourself
How lovely it was when your fingernails ripped
As you scrambled and clutched at the edge
And your stomach wracked from your mouth as you fell
Did it feel beautiful, when you fell?
Did you ever really fall?

Everything ugly can become beautiful
A thousand poppies above a sea of rotting corpses
Turning to a graveyard of bones
Flower heads red like the blood spilt on the dark soil
Drip, drip, drip like a broken tap
Slash, slash, slash like a knife slicing through flesh
And that muffled, drawn-out scream mixed with gurgling of blood
Bubbling from lips and staining them, staining everything
That garish, bright shade of crimson
And then a thump
Because the end is always the softest part
Even if you cling on, kicking and screaming
The tide will sweep you away and your voice will not be heard
Unless you can find a rock out in the waves
And tear off those fingernails all over again to just
Hold on

Flowers grow through cracks
Cracks in bones and cracks in minds
Flowers of that garish, bright shade of crimson
With those seeds of madness
That wind you up like a little music box
And twist you around like a clockwork ballerina
And when you break those tiny screws
It's all your fault
The flowers that grow through the cracks
Are the flowers that drive the nail further
Until it hits soft flesh
Down through to bone
The bone of cracks and broken screws
But you did it all yourself
Why did you do this to yourself?