Sitting in your room, you say this can be my space; an escape, a place where I can come and talk perhaps even wash the pain away,
I believe this is a joke, pointless even because there is no hope,
I understand you’ll try and persuade me that I’m wrong,
But don’t bother because in my heart I don’t belong,
There will come a time,
When the clock will strike nine and everything will be as it should have all along,
I’ll become like Cinderella as I’ll fetch my glass slipper,
But my story will slightly differ,
In the end I won’t get my handsome prince,
Instead a six foot box for them to place my feet in.