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
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