You built me a castle with cracking walls,
With shattered crowns and flooded halls,
With dying gardens and broken thrones,
With jewels made of sharpened bones.
You vowed to give me a golden stage,
But you handed me a gilded cage,
Your promise of skies, vast and blue,
Threatens to fall with an ashen hue
Where were all that you promised me?
Like tales and songs and open seas?
In shame, you hid where angels fall,
You gave me much, yet none at all.
The Image Is Not Mine
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