Worn
She was a muse
In the hands of those
Who handled her poorly
Who built castles in the sky
Upon her shattered smile
With the fractured pieces of her heart
Without regard for her unguarded while
To devour her like used rags
And recycled paper
“SHE WAS A MUSE IN THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO HANDLED HER POORLY”
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Golden Violin
He made a song about meSang to me like therapyEnthralled by his golden violinHe pledged his de
Stay Amidst
I needed you to stayOn the nights I clamoured at the windWith claws made of tremours
REST IN PIECES
Rest in piecesThe remnants of my shattered heart
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