Broken shards of my mind.
The sharp icicles.
The bloody icicles.
Poked my heart for steering the ship towards the sea of sirens.
Naive heart solely knew how to hallucinate.
But no longer did it want to gasp.
It thawed the icicles to start a river in the desolate desert of my mind.
And with no more icicles, with the blood river soaking the dead soil, the mind morphed into a perfect compass.
A compass perfect enough to guide a lost maniac like my heart out of the sea of sirens.

Even a broken can be fixed.
Even a desert can be a valley of flowers.
Only a mind needs to be carved in a perfect way.
Perfect enough to play a rusted piano to a mad heart's beat.
A mind wise enough to write a song out of heart's fumbled lyrics.