When it's too late

After seven years, I'm still trying
to catch my dreams with binary.
One click after another,
chain-linking my pride
like daisies around a little girl.

Except, it's too late now
to braid flowers into my hair.
It's too late to use a safety net.
Fate is nothing but a gardener
pretending to plant happy endings.

And in a garden full of daisies,
I was nothing but a leaf.
A leaf that blew over
from the tree next door.
Ill-fated, crumpled like bad poetry.

It's too late to turn the page,
to try and be the pretty flower,
that lies still between stories
about heroes and princesses
in its dried-up state.

I do not belong to fairies and tales.
I was not meant to live in full-bloom;
to grow up, scented by love.
Nothing matters anymore.
Nothing ever mattered.

26-01-2016
1:54 AM