Bits and peices.

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but of the man to behold is blind?

A curtain of laughter blocks out the screams full of pain,
the obvious day dreaming dead stare hidden from within a smile, which all to well resembles something of broken glass, shatterd and jagged.
Walk on broken bones, hold hands high blazing with volitile agony, so sweet, so bitter, so much life formed into a taste.

How cruel the mocking fingers point, only seen in the dark recesses of my mind, a wasteland of nightmares, broken promises...to remember...how I long to forget.

Speak so softly, in a whisper only for the dead. The song I sing, just for them, to lul them in there graves, to let the weeping willow weep, the black birds carry the souls away more gently, the rain fall more warmly, the night darken more softly, the moon shine more brightly.