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Glass is burned
and melted
and molded
burned
and melted
and molded
Again
And again
And again
Until it reaches its final form
Sometimes the glass is molded for beauty
Sometimes the glass is molded to be put to good use

And sometimes
the glass breaks.

Maybe the glass
falls
falls
falls
to the ground
and shatters into pieces.

Sometimes the pieces can be picked up
and reformed
into
new patterns
and new designs

But sometimes you cannot save this glass.

But
despite the fact that this glass was never finished to be
something beautiful
or something useful

It was once in the process.

It was in the process of becoming more than it was.
It's whole life
it was in the process.

Despite the fact that nobody had the chance
to stare at the beauty of this glass
or use this glass to hold their flowers,

to the glass blower

it was beautiful.

He saw it in its most fragile state
during its most beautiful times
He shaped it

deliberately

every curve

every corner

was deliberate.

Despite the fact that this glass was never used for its intent
it served perfectly
because
to the glass blower

it was beautiful.
~for my beautiful sisters~
I once knew serenity
where I lived for infinity
a place of my youth
where there was nothing but truth
no lies or deceit
where there was nothing I wouldn't try and defeat
an unbreakable young mind
who saw happiness in everything he could find
but innocence started to fade
things weren't just lime and lemonade
chemical changes taken place underneath
ulterior motives hidden behind a metal sheath
whilst lost the baby teeth
took pleasure in power
and not just the pretty flower
unable to grasp that time began to move too fast
yearn for the past
emotions appeared that no one wants to last
anger jealousy hurt and depression
all which taught a life long lesson
that nothing remains the same
and for that there's no one to blame
cause the world doesn't give a ****
I know that's pessimism but expect for the worst
as then at least your bubble of life wont burst.
You're the devil,
On her shoulder,
Clinging to her,
Fragile bones.

You're the devil,
On her shoulder,
Breaking her,
With sticks and stones.

You're the devil,
On her shoulder,
Pushing her,
Away from home.

But you only,
Want to hold her,
So you don't feel,
All alone.
Don't worry darling,
When I push you away,
I promise,
You won't feel a thing.

I'll be the one,
To burn in the fire,
The smoke,
Causing my eyes to sting.

I know it's for the better,
I'm a burden,
Don't you see?

I promise I won't blame you,

Who would want to be around me?
I promise I won't blame you,
I don't have the guts to leave.
 Mar 2014 The Butterfly
A
Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you my skin tries to run away, and the goosebumps infect the people next to me. My stomach contents heave-** and tango to the beat of my limping heart. The tears swirl and tickle my eyelashes, but they do not fall, like I, for you.
Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you I forget how to use the 26 letters of the alphabet to spell your name. The tastes of "want" and "need" ****** my tongue because you are those flavours.

Everytime I think of you.
I try to stop.
Because you turned the butterflies in my stomach into moths.

Why did you do that?
This is actually quite a bad piece. But my thoughts were upset.
Sorry if it bores you.
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