Walking a garden path
Strewn with bloodstained petals and ash.
Are these things to take note of?
Or more unimpressive trash?
Burning in frigid flames
Bare for the whole world's sight.
Does it even matter?
It seems they are blind on this night.
Being tortured by shadows and shades
With whispered nothings and demented grins
Should i even fight them?
Maybe they'll help me atone for my sins
Picking up pieces of myself
Looking for something in the wreckage of a star
Shoving each one back inside
A shard of me for every scar?