Stolen fairytales falling off the wall
Pictures that should have never been there
She may like it but its too hard for them to crawl
Up to wherever the heavens end
It was only a haughtiness she wore that day,
That ensured and instigated, hammered through.
His shoes are like the revolver on a motorcycle wheel
One day you see them, one day you don’t
His gifts are meagre leftovers of where he’d been spending he whole week.
But she gladly lets him in.
“If he could touch me, hold me, dote on me before he goes again
Maybe the I could have enough wistful thoughts, sparked coals
To pull me through the winter days.”
Treasuries of the heart couldn’t do nothing to her endless demand,
If he only knew how little it was,
But through all that little portion being thrown to her
Like bits of pellets to a starving fish
She cried through clenched teeth
“Lord, help me not to settle for the least they give
May I seek for more!”