Fairy Tales Always Win

So much love to offer and so little offering ground, the altars with blown out candles, cold and uncaring and nothing to drown in and sacrifice, the melted wax a pleasure pain when when hot and the dripping on skin such an entice.

Blaming myself for investing and buying into the romance and eternal suffocation, the allure and promise of bliss such a tempting dangle and never predicting the mental alteration.

If I could take back my wishes upon a Star I would yank them from the night sky and toss the burning balls of Fire deep into a wishing well.
For at least in a damp well they’d snuff out and stop taunting me back into the dream that only fails.

Cursed with the pension for fantasy trying to be reality, for always striving for the unknown, searching for the fabled land that lives inside my mind and beckons night and day, where it promises my hearts desire will be and the burning passion will never fade away.

But I do see, I do know, that I’ve been a fool for so long and I’m a glutton for punishment. Insanity at it’s finest for I never learn and continue on, instead I tragically play with that fire that will one day consume me entirely because the battered dream of my very own fairy tale has always won.