(Its all she’s ever known.)

She’s always been
Just... a cliché


[Romance novel.]
One of the books that are


[Full of]
The [fluttery stomach] type of
Beautiful.



And
The somewhat mysterious,
Kisses.

Used over and over again,
[Just another book on the shelf]
Literally.
She knows what she is.


She doesn’t know how
To make it better.

Its not out of the ordinary
For her to find herself taken
And picked apart page-by-page
By the people who don’t even understand

How it feels to be all about
Love

Heartbreak





And pain.
But I guess nobody ever really
Cares anymore.

She is stained.



[Dirty boy’s]
Glitter- covered fingerprints
Lining every nook and cranny of her pure essence
With disaster,




Creating a sparkling [sculpture].
Of bad dreams. [What will happen now?]
Too bad it’ll just make things worse...

Dreams of the love that she only
*Wishes upon a star for*
Have vanished from the “worthy” list.
In a world where her fingers are only

Inches away from the vanishing point,
Dreams don’t come true.

So why even bother to wish

Upon a

*Twinkle*Twinkle*Little*Star*

She plead until her voice started cracking,
“Please don’t let me disappear”

But,
Paper shall wear thin.

Eventually [break.]
She is only a novel after all.

No matter how tattered her fragments have become...

[Breathe in the essence of imperfection,


Just a little while.
I promise it’ll be better than the rest.
Pot.Ciggarettes.Vodka.(Blood.)]

You’ll only be like this a bit longer anyways.

Enjoy it while it lasts.
[You might miss it later darling.]

She reads herself from beginning to end,
Training her eyes to pick apart every
Page,


Every single sentence,
Until each letter was shaped
Perfectly.



In the end,

I guess we’re all just striving for

Perfection.

[The sad part is,





We’ll all die trying.]