She is a landscape
Her eyes, filled with lakes
Her body is the rolling hills
Her hair, the grass and leaves
Her voice is the brush of wind
Her eyes, the dirt of flowerbeds

She is a landscape
But all she sees is destruction
She sees the pollution in the lakes
The bumps in the hills
The dying leaves of fall
The plainness of dirt
The sadness in the birds call

We look upon her
And see the beautiful landscape
But alas, her eyes are the dirt
And cannot see
What beauty is built around it.

I once believed in fairy-tales
And knew the villain would never win.
Then the fabrications tattered
And let the demons in.
I learned the villain isn't easy to beat
And that left me incomplete.
I cry in the discovery
That life can't live happily
In the famous ever after.