She wore her golden hair like a monarch's crown.
It was made fitting even more so when she built
kingdoms of rusty dreams, shackled to the sand and sea,
not realizing that her demands of purity and honesty
made her walls crumble and her court deserted.
If we cannot mold our dreams into sandcastles
and have faithful vassals even there,
is it ever a wonder truly when
every single day passes by,
feeling like your own funeral?
Certain of her mantra - that people always leave -
she took a step back from her own boundaries,
and rejected every new morning.
She rejected the sun and the stars,
and she rejected friendships and love:
Because it's meant to be lonely, she said,
to be the ruler at the top.
