Do you understand? Can you grasp it?
How she threw hope away, in a starless sea of paper,
how her soul transfered to the page.
Without it she grew cold, without it they grew bold, and picked the skin off her face.
And she let them indeed, had no reason left to fight, they'd burdened her for so many years.
Mother may I slip the line, and out the window flies the rhyme?
Please don't let me melt away, into a pool of sharp sharp gray.
If you touch me now you could hurt your finger, prick it like a thorn.
And long, like a paper cut it would sparkle and burn.
Do you see the stars yet? Twinkling in her eyes?
Placed in such a strange cool way, so they bloom like rose petals within the lies.
We stayed up till midnight, telling stories of our lives,
and the watercolor stains, will remain until we die.