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Lace trim,

sewn on with fast hands,

Neatly, steadily

Holding on just slightly,

Hatred for thread,

Woven from the pain,

Tears holding it all together.

Lace intricately woven,

from carefully muniplative hands,

drawing patterns of dead flowers,

on delicate rock surfaces.

Chasing designs,

etching careful hearts on glass,

laying them over danger.

Danger made from shards of a broken soul,

Dark as midnight,

shining a mournful glow,

to an already dark fate.

Hatred filled needles pierce danger,

covering, trimming and lining,

Giving the world perspective,

Lacing a dull bright danger.

A lace trimmed danger.