The tooth not privileged 
enough to be in the sack of a
sleep deprived fairy sleeps 
near the hysterical bedlamp, 
while you almost kill yourself.
Almost.
Simply because you 
wanted to prove that you can.
Simply because your 
loneliness was hungry.
Simply because your grief 
consumed more water 
that it caused a drought.
Simply because destruction 
seemed kinder than survival.
You wished to be a small bug
crushed under his boot.
And to shape-shift into 
something that he may keep forever.
You dreamed of being a his muse, 
this little non poet who 
created metaphors unintentionally 
and to be revered as a part 
of his personal history.
You fancied to be the 
selected one in the banquet 
of this blue prince and 
to dance freely, 
oblivious of a glass slipper 
which will eventually 
loss the magic.
You manifested to be 
the summer fruit 
sculptured by god, 
something that can be 
a biblical reference 
but your gluttony 
digested the sacred command 
and made you a sinner.
But you failed.
This was the drizzle 
of homesickness 
that couldn't be stopped.
Half soaked.
Half dried.
You were drowning.
You were withering.
So
You found the emergency exist,
Because there were no doors.

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