Letra de Flora

I don't know how I started separating from my body of morals and opinions, injustices and justices. There's a valley between myself - rose petals on a bed of nails - that I toss and turn and get the best sleep of my life on. And I wake up anemic and happy, bloody, sticky. Stop saying I'm so delicate. You pluck my kisses like violins being played right by my ear drums. It's a loss of gentleness; you claim to have left marching in the rain. "I can handle this. You've prepared me for wars; you can see it in my loss. I wear it on my words." Too confused to figure out and lost beyond finding myself, we used to hold hands now we're both left with lefts and nobody's right. I am not a seamstress, a ventriloquist's ventriloquist we're like the shutout offspring of therapists. My skin is paper I can see the sky through my eyelids. "You're ugly," says the queen of me, something about my personality