A warm wool neck filled with pins and needles,
rips a volcanic eruption of string from me.
fixing my china is fun to do but
not with a sledgehammer smashing me in pieces.
An golden ornament is once desired,
Only providing blueprints of a destroyed home.
A flower is fair, beautiful but pure
and even there are days we stare more at the thorns.
Necklaces choking a porcelain doll,
with movements which are dead but a creative mind.
Plotting curiously note after note,
I feel like an object and to you I am one.
It's inspired by Sonnets and Canzone's structures - just a little more simplified;
It always irritates me, the feeling of being mad, upset or even stressed out but sometimes we feel that way and it's okay,
yet for some reason people always think if you are level-headed it's surreal to see you angry, upset or even weak at all.
Stop seeing people like objects; We're alive not dead.
