But the boy told the girl,
“I will always protect you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“You are special.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“Your soul is made of pure gold.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“I love you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

She is a wilting flower
                  And I am the sunshine begging her
                                                                ­     Just to stay alive.

                                                         ­            She says she's a dying ****
                  And no amount of water or love
Could ever save her.

How can I be peaceful? When in my head, theres only war?

Broken crayons still color the same.
I mean- isn't that really the aim?
Finish coloring the big picture-
our life picture.
We're all crayons,
or markers, paint perhaps.
Everyone's a little bent,
cracked. Snapped,
in some way shape form.
It's really kinda the norm
nowadays.
But in a box full of crayons-
when they are used, when they live-
they snap. They crack.
They break.
But they still work, just the same.
It may be a bit tougher for them-  
but they're tougher from it.
We're tougher from it.
We're all broken crayons
filling in our own life line.
But broken crayons still color fine.