Petal soft kisses, raining


Upon the bitter glass fingers of
Forgotten empathy
These little kisses,
Stealing away the thoughts


Of the frigid little frostbitten
Moth, singing a requiem to herself
While she lays down in her


Of goose down and faerie dust
And butterfly mourners
Place broken teardrops
In her glossy


A silly little mixture of
Ammonia and bleach, keeps
The world sane
But not without a


Which is never
Truly served, for only
One thing can be said
For certain