The roses look so pretty as they die
So she picked one up and squeezed it
Till
She bled through
Her white satin gloves
Till
She forgot how it felt
To have skin
That wasn’t bleeding

Daydreams
Become
Days of
Dreaming
Became her
Days
While

She spent her time
Swinging her legs
On the fence between
dying roses
and wet grass

She’ll say she was pushed
But really,
She jumped

And
Wrapped in the thornes,
As red turned to black
She hoped the sky was watching
Cuz
She too
Looked so pretty

She always loved a little magic.
But, don't we all
Admire the art in deception and
Manipulation of the truth?

I guess we all love a little magic.
Maybe, even too much but
We are taught to do what we love.

So she picked up her wand,
All smeared in black,
Her eyelashes her stage,
And performed her illusion.