Is that make-up running down your face, dripping from your soft cheek, or are your tears just as black as the secrets you keep hidden in your chest. They grow more deadly with every beat of your evil heart; drip through your veins into your lungs where they escape--immediately making them true--imprisoning me in ridicule. This disease must not be released. I will keep you here with me. The world is so pretty and you would destroy the symphony. Don't look so sad. I will rub your eyes--I will make you as beautiful as I remember you before you got so sick--before you ruined everything.
