Eventually, eventually you get tired of fighting alone. 

This is supposed to be home, but it's a war zone. 

Eventually you let go of the slipping rope that burns your hands so badly. 

This is supposed to be comforting, but it's more tragedy that happy.

So fragility is what you left me. 

My heir to the throne is my only true peace. 

Forced to pick up the shards of glass bare handed. 

I do so unwillingly but its necessary. 

I piece them back together with mix matched sides. 

It doesn't make sense yet, but this new picture of destiny has never graced my eyes. 

Real, raw, and endless is all I ask for.

And an open line back and forth free to be me. 


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