Varför känns de lättare att tycka om andra än sig själv? 

So cold as if you weren't broken,
Like the Devil's word was never spoken.
Thorn sharp as blades,
While your beauty never fades.

The reflection in the water,
Your gaze is growing darker.
The eyes are still so empty,
Even your face says that you've seen plenty.

As the wind blowing in the trees,
Roses never breaks like these.
Standing strong like no other,
They can't see why you bother.

Gammal dikt jag skrev för några år sen.

Breath into me av Red