It’s a masquerade,
a sick sort of parade the day
for fools and their gold,
aged and old
like ashes to ashes
it all falls down.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who’s the most desperate
of them all?
It won’t tell,
and you can’t see yourself
through there
cause it’s a two way,
a paved road to hell
with good intentions,
the rather sad inclination
for the better things in life
like a lost paradise.
But you don’t have the golden
ticket, only a heart breaking
smile, one that won’t even buy
a nursery rhyme
or the comfort that comes with it.
Come on girl, wake up, live it.
The lie you painted of yourself
with enchanted die
and a heart that won’t lie still,
not even for a night.
Your finger pricked the spindle,
you’ve got to swindle all your
closest friends for a quick mend
in a dreamless sleep
you call your own
when really
you’re just lying there
counting sheep in
a never ending
cycle of secrets you’re bound to,
a promise you’ve sworn to keep
by Cross-Your-Heart-Hope-to-Die
before the deathly dance
comes nigh.
Hide behind the mask
you’re destined to die in,
because you’ve got a made bed
to lie in.
So count back from ten
and with each decreasing number
breathe in
because it’s come time for your
fairy tale story to end.