Poetry

those hands which once felt like home
seems to the the same hands
casting the stones,
i wish i could offer my help,
but your heart is cold
all wickedness has taken its tole
and slowly she breaks
her heart no longer has what it takes
to strive through the night
fragile to touch, sensitive
to words, a broken frame
held up by a nail
no longer eligible
a picture that deserves a thousand takes
a thousand glances no chance for mistake
let me mend your heart
heal your crimson touch
ignite your spark
that was once lost
amount of lust, passion and love