her elysian fairytale was a kingdoom/of encrusted sapphire pearls/and barnacles on the back of an ancient humpback/jumping from each ivory piano key/dancing to the song/that sprang from her heart.

her elysian fairytale was a kingdoom/of exploding stars that cried and died/ then rose again/of dark moons and misty dandelions/ and marigolds bursting through the everlasting rot/an ephemeral pocket of joy/filled with moondust/and rose tinted heart-shaped/glass shards.

her elysian fairytale was a kingdoom/of lucid moonflowers and rainbow sundrops/goldfish swimming in tears and bubbles/in the sapphire sky/clandestine crystal chrysanthemums bloomed/in her elysian fairytale/a secret beauty/of rejoicing in the fact that joy/existed/and not that joy was over.

so she found a cerulean city/of pearly white moondust/ and gave it her shattered soul/ with a smile/and a dream but/the white was rot and blood/bleached with pain and lies/and the moondust was stolen/from smiling stars now fallen and lost.

she fought for hell like it was heaven/because for her, it was.

(sometimes the worst you can do is let yourself hope)