she was wrong. now, i can't see the grace in the birds landing, sending a gentle ripple in my quiet, little world.
the beauty in the roses dancing; a ballet, a classical piece in my silent, hopeless world.
maybe i'm broken because when the birds sing i hear a haunting melody they sing to me like the voices in my head bringing me closer and closer and closer until i'm driven ******* crazy
all i can see in the roses are the thorns that ***** me while i silently wish they would ***** me all across my throat
maybe i'm broken but that's okay all of us are
because at some point the tape will peel off the glue will wear down but