All those lost nights,
Waiting for nothing to save me.
In this cold shell,
A casket in it’s own way.
Pale and empty,
A porcelain doll of displacement.
Eyes so cold,
That nothing i saw could dismay.
Left in silence,
In hollow and empty salvation.
Nothing for me,
But a calla lily in hand.
Sad though it seems,
I’m saved from utter destruction.
From the one who sends dolls to their grave.
This abandonment is the the truest peace.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 10:03 AM UTC
All those lost nights,
Waiting for nothing to save me.
In this cold shell,
A casket in it’s own way.
Pale and empty,
A porcelain doll of displacement.
Eyes so cold,
That nothing i saw could dismay.
Left in silence,
In hollow and empty salvation.
Nothing for me,
But a calla lily in hand.
Sad though it seems,
I’m saved from utter destruction.
From the one who sends dolls to their grave.
This abandonment is the the truest peace.
