Jamie Lynn Martin brings a hope of beauty to Heretics, Lovers, And Madmen
I used to think that all things beautiful meant it never saw the inside of a devils heart.
Beautiful things aren’t singed with markings of his storm.
They don’t stitch their spine with caution tape,
beautiful things don’t cry.
I often cry,
but my tears are made of falling daggers gearing up for battle.
I always thought I could have been beautiful,
maybe if my insides weren’t filled with ash.
Your soul burned long before mine,
but I still carry it with me as a peaceful reminder of who I used to be.
Beautiful things were never meant to be conquered,
flag planted,
kissing scars under my skin.
Your sins were meant as tokens,
but the pain that paid the cost fell forcefully at my feet.
Your Savage embrace could never spare what’s left of me,
Yet I still hope for the day that what remains can somehow be reclaimed.
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