glass doll

Love is not kind, and it never will be.
It is the choking thorns I made myself
from the guilt of what I tried to create for you.

Love is the hellfire that made me believe
I might have deserved to choose something for myself
and almost in line with this cruel genre-
I chose wrong, and the illusion shattered.

So the flames made to warm your wings rise higher,
And the thorns made once to protect you, now asphyxiate.
Maybe my sorrow will bring you satisfaction.
For now, I suppose I'll be here.