Scattered

When she adrift her gift… for nothing
She is convinced and lifted as a dream
In smoulder, no overcome she will find
First her mother and almost her mind

Later, to a friend, she puts on weight
Her father left after, as did the rafter
Her home became scattered in a pile
All alone, she could not sleep awhile

By her bruises, she is too used to lose
As to guess is no; and yes is to choose
For her unhurt is necessary to blame
In contrary, each pain hurt the same

© R|CARDO.

— Ricardo Sexton