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Description
All our hearts, are made of glass.
Some more delicate, fragile.
Like a chorus they resonate,
slowing beating.

All glass hearts are stained,
Crystal grains casted with emotion.
No longer bearing the clarity.

All glass hearts, glisten in the light,
But dull under the veil of night.
Each scarred with the cracks of time,
None of the wounds ever healing.

My glass heart, cracked long before,
My hands grasping the pieces,
Can only drip with black.
Stained, new crystals flow down.

All glass hearts, were made to break.
Their wounds, meant to cut.
Their strings meant to knot.
Never to be mended.

Description
All our hearts, are made of glass.
Some more delicate, fragile.
Like a chorus they resonate,
slowing beating.

All glass hearts are stained,
Crystal grains casted with emotion.
No longer bearing the clarity.

All glass hearts, glisten in the light,
But dull under the veil of night.
Each scarred with the cracks of time,
None of the wounds ever healing.

My glass heart, cracked long before,
My hands grasping the pieces,
Can only drip with black.
Stained, new crystals flow down.

All glass hearts, were made to break.
Their wounds, meant to cut.
Their strings meant to knot.
Never to be mended.