(no subject)

[windvogel]

You walk these halls without feeling guilt.
Never any acknowledgement of the soul you've killed.
Is it denial, or have you even seen?
Where once was hope, there is a shattered dream.

You never turn your head to even see the fact.
That once hope's gone, never shall it come back.
Like a flower stomped beneth rampaging raids,
Or lace wrapped round a hundred bloody blades.

You say you care, you promise you love;
You claim your heart pristine, like heaven's dove.
But when you look around, all that you ever see,
Is what you see in the mirror, which isn't me.