Cinderella’s dream re-enacted through time.
Jealous whispers hidden under layers of gossamer,
ribbons a-flutter on a-breeze.
A smile on a face, lit up with stars,
and music drums;
hammering in time with heartbeats,
heartbeats,
heartbeats.
But this is no book of happy fables,
this is a suburban fairytale
and fairies are long since dead.
And the glass slipper left on the stair?
It stays abandoned there.
Deadbeat.
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