Wistful
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Outside, it was miserable and rainy:
A cold day in November.
I held the photo against the lamp
On a dark day in November.
It was old, blurry and grainy,
But enough to make me remember.
I'm a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl that hoped one day that maybe she could be loved.
You told me I was beautiful.
You taught me to talk.
You told me I was your princess,
Sleepy eyes, a heart indifferent to life
A heart that is a slave to the light
What lie of the face will I face?
A beguilement of assorted grace
I reach for the hollowness with pain
