Moonbeams drip from her fingertips
Ice cascades around her hips,
She's ancient fjord,
A dark and cavernous mind,
Little elemental sprite.
Child of the night
Whose blossoms only bloom
Under the blackened out moon.
Sister of delight, you dear,
Your turnstiles let in too many I fear.
Her wings wither away,
This Queen of the Fey,
Goddess of wanting and waiting
With sanity slowly dissipating.
Can't stop disintegrating,
Stolen upstream up by the clouds,
Swept with self-doubt.
A heart left in shambles,
Some broken pieces scattered across the floor,
She uses her king as the bits of glue in between,
And though he doesn't quite understand
Just how much one would give
To replace the position in which he stands.
Beautiful Disaster; what everybody's after.
And no you can't have her, hold her or save her,
She's a wild thing,
You probably haven't the wits to properly embrace her.