I used to
believe in illusion...

You wrote about me,
There for I'm writing about you...

Take off your back
all the weight that comes along...

Let me tell you this,
age and maturity do not...

I would sleep beside you,
have my fingertips brush ever...

Tonight,
I think of you...

As I look back through
memories of a broken childhood...

I have wrapped you so dearly
around my heart...

But,
I'm no hypocrite...

Perhaps the mother
that deals with back...

I've always held you,
like a fragile crystal in my hands...

You walk through that door,
Like satan on fire...