You can paint a pretty picture,
with blood and tears.
Screams echo through out my mind.
You silence the ghost of my soul,
as you rise with the darkness.
You are the length of my sorrows.
You know the extent of my tears.
You hold my heart in the palm of your hand.
It's punctured, and bruised,
bandaged, and taped, on the verge
of falling apart.
It is pieced together by what
is left of hope.
If love isn't enough to heal us,
but is the cause of every break
than surely hate is not alone.
Love can be just as evil,
as to watch us cry
ourselves to sleep, every night.