Bombshells and Eggshells

A journey through the ruins

In the Palace of our depression

With the solemn intent and purpose

Of a funeral procession

A monument made of glass

Neither dared throw stones

As we sifted through the ashes

And picked over the bones

An obscene crime scene

Blood spattered the walls

Memories already fading

In what once were hallowed halls

I never found a path to peace

But hindsight saw it clearly

In order for me to ever be free

I had to destroy something I loved dearly

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