Calmontecat

Happiness in not meant to break and bend.           It is a lovely thing that is difficult to mend And all lovely things are ruined in the end. Like a broken angel tumbling down to the ground,           Crippled as the pain echoes and resounds. Lost, so lost, and never found. Like butterflies with burning wings,           Like slit-throated birds trying to sing, Ruined like all lovely things.