She kept the beauty of fairy tales
fluttering about her heart
and the reality of heartache
in the paint strokes of her eyes
she was always
a tear away from suicide
and a dream away from life
she walked the line between fiction and love
on a rope made out of razor wire
and whiskey shots mixed with turpentine
her feet could smoother burning coals
and bled and wrote stories
no one dared walk behind
she could speak in languages
only the stars and the leaves
could understand
and she sang to both
whenever they asked
she knew how to swim
but preferred the feeling of drowning
the cold searing pain
of lungs unable to take a breath
the fear and rush of staring
into the dark unknown
she would get lost at sea
to find her way to oceans end
where mermaids and starfish
waited to hear
the fluttering of her heart
as told by the beauty of fairy tales