Pale white like the skin stretched over your bones.
Spring keeps you ever so close, secondhand smokes.
So fragile and hurt, standing trial for someone's else sins.
Holding onto yourself, the best you can.
You are the smell before the rain.
You are the blood in my vein.
If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hands.
O hope then you will find who you are.
And know who I was.