Despair it is to lose all hope,
Yet to still believe,
That your heart and mind can cope,
That freedom you shall receive.
The broken image in the mirror will become anew,
With no cracks to feel,
Leaving only what’s real.
Shadows cast upon your heart,
Will be a sweet memory,
Such a work of art,
That little tender thing will be.
Your skin, innocent and soft,
Shall be your favorite shield,
Your soul going aloft,
To a sacred field.
Feel that blood,
Rushing through your veins,
It makes a flood,
Amongst those beautiful remains.
A broken dream this has always been,
For human life is cruel,
This false hope has become a sin,
Indeed, I must be a fool.