Twenty six minutes. Twenty one to get through the day.
One. Two. Seven. Twenty. Hurt.
No love, no beauty, no life.
Nothing, just hurt.
Esmerald eyes glance through the night, with tears tattooed in disguise, and all those pupils can see is death, loss, sadness, hurt.

Her soul that was once so perpetual
is now dancing in a field of pain,
how horrible must it be to have everything that could never remain.
And they are sad, because sad is all they know.

He came by today without saying a word,
you could tell he looked better, the rest was a blur.
While she was caged in horror,
all she could taste was cuts and hurt.