she’s sitting on a chair,
in a dusty, cluttered room,
she’s chewing on her golden hair,
in the sunstreaked gloom.
she’s smiling at the wall,
and she’s smiling at them all,
she’s been playing with the seams,
between the real world and its dreams.
she’s more than she asked for,
and she’s more than she had thought,
she’s more than you think she is,
but what she feels is caught.
between the real world and its dreams,
sewn up in the seams between,
where sometimes a smile’s a frown,
and everything is upside down.
in a patch of dust-streaked sun,
in a gloomy cluttered room,
she’s playing with her golden hair,
and sitting on her golden chair.
she’s more than she wanted,
and she’s more than she should be,
she’s more than she can handle,
but it’s to late to see.
into the real world and its dreams,
sewn up now the seams in between,
where sometimes the chair’s just rotten wood,
and nothing’s right at all.