Cinderella Is Dead

In my perfectly ironed attire, I seek the one I desire. Here I am, at the ball, Planning to catch your fall, I hear you in my mind as your luscious eyes call, Pride in my chest, as I stand so tall With the glass shoe in my hand, our eyes meet Our bodies greet And by your side I place a seat With the glass shoe in my hand, I place your foot in And your foot does not fit As the men around us laugh and grin My heart more silent than a pin As the hair rises on my skin My jaw drops along with my chin I was so sure you were the one But I forcibly left instead I was carried away in stun And realized that the old fairy tale was dead