Thunder and lightning couldn’t compare,
To what proceeds to be more than just a flare.
Born in awe and to the crowds glare,
Sadly or not,there was more than meets the eye,wasn’t there?
Damaged and wounded,
A pretty soul wandered for affection to the bitter end.
Efforts run fruitless,and emotions run deep
All for their approval,and the promises they promised to keep.
“What an object of disaster”They say
“A weapon,designed by a witty master”
Yet on a plain mirror,such a soft soul
Only suffers the critics of the ones shes held onto like a mole
But then again,
What do you do when its common perception
That your just an utter distraction?
Then i guess,
You remain to fight alone.
-To Beautiful Disasters.