Don’t tell me

We aren’t all some kind of magic

Frail bodies held together

By blood and bone

Trudging on in this

Mad, mad world

Wishing on dying stars

And searching for happiness

In broken things and people


With tin hearts rusted

By warm tears

And the blood from

Fresh scars painting

Previous ones,

Reopening old wounds


Making music

Out of wood and strings

Out of love and life

And broken hearts

Taking cracks and pieces

And making them

Beautiful again


Looking for hope

In pitch and dark

Falling, fumbling

Slipping, stumbling

On the tangles that

The world throws our way

Weaving love and magic

With our pieces

Finding light in the

Curve of a pair of lips

The rasp of a voice

And the feeling

Of a hand in yours


Falling again

Feeling again

Even after hurting

Even after you swear

Your heart will never heal

That nothing will ever

Be the same

Yet still finding

The heady heat

And rush of bliss

In another soul


Traipsing along

With constellations

Of scars

Dotting fragile hearts

Turning them

Into galaxies

Even when

Everything screams

In clanging, clamouring

Catatonic cacophony

To stop, stop.


So you start again

Lighting fires

With the spark

In your smile

And the starlight

In your eyes

You may bleed

But somehow turn

The pain into

Scarlet beauty.





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