A small box that’s held sorrow
Falls from the twisted ceiling
Breaking into pieces
Cracking against the glass floor
Of my mind

The perception of the insane
Morphed into hells own masterpiece
No wings to speak of
Tears break the surface of the porcelain eye
Cutting as they fall
Leaving behind evidence of hate

Broken girls smile
Holds the secrets of the unknown
Hands nailed to the cross in supplication
Blood become black
One sip stinks of madness

No longer whole just a loosed puppet
Rigid in its own macabre dance
No place like home to want to be
A small box that held sorrow