She has a desert heart produce by fragments of glass broken pieces and bloody scars. Her wings of a butterfly are fragile and colorful but all too transparent in the light. She still holds the whitest of smiles and bright eyes hiding dark thoughts and empty nights. She’s a fortress with walls to high no one can see in, nor one can ever come inside. Her desert heart craving affection like rain, but the only way she can be letting the rain flow from within.