Sparkatale

She digs through the costumes in the chest
Looking for the one she's meant to be
Memorizes her lines—wants to be the best
Eyes her reflection and says, "This is me."

Looks at the trinkets she holds dear
Reflects back upon all of their history
Blinks and struggles against all the tears
Says to herself, "This will never be."

She cradles them in a sheet of silken white
And locks them away within a tiny coffin
Buries them deep and proceeds now to fight
A nightmare that she had suffered often

In the last few nights, a dream of expiration
An image that things were falling all to hell
She fell to the brinks of purest desperation
But found that nobody cared to make her well.

With downpouring eyes that flood the floor
Seeking the sanctuary of her dark little room
She made a decision to lock the door
And wait to succumb to all of the gloom.

Within the nightstand beside her bed
All the instruments she would ever need
To kill the voices inside of her head—
To send them all away forever, indeed.

After making her choice, she lays in wait
Nestled in the warm comfort of her sheets
Happily accepting this most morbid of fate
And waiting for her heart to stop its beat.

She closes her eyes and whispers her apology
For taking his time and throwing him so off track
And with her last ragged breath remaining, she
Told him, "Here is your life. I'm giving it back."