Broken Crayons

I'm so used to being heartbroken

I forgot how to cry

So used to being hurt

That I no longer question why

I just exist in it

It's very rhythm in my bones

Building skyscrapers from the stones

Thrown at me since before I could walk

Caught

In practiced hands

And moulded into art

Where I live in the penthouse of my tower

In an escapist solitude that time devours

Petting my nightmares on their heads

For their company

Coz I know exactly why they seek my company

Then came a sculptor blessing me with words

Tapping into my emotional reserve

And I felt my pain slip silently from my eyes

As the reservoir came asunder

Coz she told me 'Broken crayons still colour,'