Cease your storm
For all you found
In all that snow
Were empty hands

Something blue on your finger
And gears hanging from your ears
With your neck held firm
And your head slumped back

Chase the smoke that dissipates
Like sifting sand through your hands
Those auburn eyes the shattered glass
That kept stabbing at my breast

An acoustic guitar that never sings
She plays best on broken strings
The girl who drank the fire
In an attempt to thaw her throat

There's no sense in running home
Into arms that never cradled
A house that stood unstable
Only to escape on iron horses

Gold embroiled in the fractured
The scars that make the porcelain
Come to die on sober nights
To the cold touch of the pyre

A pocketbook of memories
Categorized by melody
From happiness to melancholy
Lyrics carved into her gravestone

I am yours to wander
Theirs to have their way with
His goddess to impress
My own to love

An acoustic guitar that never sings
Comes to life, trembling
It may be overshadowed by violin
But Experience is best played
On broken strings