Do you think,
the yellow brick road,
sparkles when,
it rains?
Dorothy,
we aren’t,
in Kansas,
anymore.
The tin man,
has become,
your best friend,
and your dog,
he’s running away.
Oh poor Dotty,
I’m so sorry,
the witch,
it’s actually,
deep inside.
Don’t you,
understand?
It’s raining,
the hanging man,
he’s swinging,
and the road,
it’s sparkling.

I know a girl,
who runs,
without watching,
her step.
She just,
goes and,
goes.
I admire her,
how careless,
she is.
Her hair,
in the wind,
and the sparkle,
of her eyes.
She doesn’t,
yearn for anything,
but I am,
always,
looking down.
Watching my step,
making sure,
I don’t fall.
What do,
I miss,
in this,
world?
Just look up,
so I did,
I saw the girl,
fall,
but it wasn’t,
for me.

Drowning,
but my feet,
still brush,
the ground.
I’m baffled,
while I gasp,
for air,
I forgot,
how to,
swim.
What happened?
I’m losing,
a battle,
I didn’t realize,
I was in.
Drowning,
but my hair,
isn’t even,
wet.

One day I will be gone,
and you will grit your teeth,
but that will be okay.
I know you will hurt,
your chest will be in pain.
Your little hands,
that I once held,
will ball up into fists,
and your eyes,
will well up with tears.
But that will be okay,
because I’m not truly gone,
I’m right here,
I will wipe those tears,
right off your cheeks.
Think of me,
when a butterfly passes by,
or a sunset is so beautiful,
you can’t help,
but catch your breath,
I’m right here.
I will always be,
just right here.

I want to dance with you,
in a field of wildflowers,
the dead of night.
I’m no butterfly,
just a moth,
leading you,
to the light.
We spin,
you twirl,
as powder flies,
off my wings.
The moon,
so bright,
she says,
it’s alright.
You jump,
from cloud,
to moonbeam,
and I follow.
You’re beautiful,
and I’m a moth,
dancing with you,
in moonlight.

She used to be,
a fairy,
translucent wings,
dances with bees.
Befriending hummingbirds,
and taking sips,
from morningdew.
Fluttering,
twirling,
in the breeze,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.
Her giggles,
made flowers,
bloom,
like fields.
She had,
tea parties,
with mice,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.

Springtime flowers,
don’t grow,
in this garden.
Not in this mess,
I must confess,
buried it deep,
inside a chest.
It’s gone now,
only haunts me,
when I sleep.
My heart aches,
such a mess,
I must confess,
it’s just,
my chest.