How It Must Feel to Dance

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Me and my Cinderella have been sitting here,
Too tired to leave our pumpkin apartment.
I guess the clock finally chose midnight;
and the men of our Faith turned up as mice.

“I’ll lay here forever” she once told me,
only for me to watch the back of her car
in its red exit in the morning.
I guess Dreams and Reality were never meant to dance.

No magic wand or quiet spell,
No wishes or coins at the bottom of wells,
could ever reverse the marks and scars
left spotted on our glass slippers.

You see, songs and symphonies of composed men,
with notes and tones of extravagance,
could never express the tireless pains
of a heart left on the steps of midnight;
naked to the air it once breathed with beating confidence.

Love has never taught me anything
except to dance.
I guess ballrooms and bedrooms and other such stages
have left us with empty hands and heads full of dreams;
to dance forever to music only our hearts could sing.





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