KallistiShe lives a life like a garden of glass roses Set in patterns by another’s hand But all her glass is still so very too fragile Some day it will shatter, turn to sand.Kallisti
If she could look out from the walls of her pretty garden She’d see the chaos coursing through the world She’d see butterflies churning up tornadoes And people set on fire by madling words.
Does she really think that there's some kind of reason Why they killed poor Anastasia? And is it why the body-bag magicians Drive against the traffic, speaking aphasia?
Does she know wh
Wind
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