Shattered shards among the floor - no, it's not glass, it's the souls of the poor. The angel bows her head, but she's lost her faith. She no longer prays to a God she sees as fake, but a devil who won't take pieces, but the whole of her instead. Dustpan, and broom used to pick up the mess, clean up the gloom, and the trash, yes? Thoughts will betray you in their own despair, for who but your own mind lies about who you believe cares? Your heart is fickle with its wants and needs, but cut it out, and still, it bleeds.
Blood is thicker then water, or so I've heard, but the pain of lies, that just burns. Promises to love, to care, to be, well, I'll never make those promises, but I'm loyal, so please trust me... freedom is a luxury. A lie, in its own right. Whoever you wish to be will never be okay in some people's minds. But minds, they shatter if their beliefs are fake... ask them, honestly, why does it matter? And watch them shake. Malfunction, malfunction, does not compute - if it's wrong to them, it will never be right, so pick up the verbal gun, aim, and shoot. They'll never change, but you, my dear, will. And through every bad time, I've been here, and I always will.