She wakes up to find his hand not there

The pillow besides her lays naked with hair

Morning or night she remains unaware

Into a cracked ceiling her eyes blankly stare

 

When she was small her father had said

No one is good enough for her to wed

For she was a princess in waiting well bred

Instead she finds herself deeply mislead

 

Romantics are made from dreams reborn

Fueled by fairy tales where evil is scorned

She does the right thing and still feels torn

Until all that’s left is an old heart forlorn

 

Time wields a whip which yields no mercy

To plague her wounds with salt as memories

Pain is in the veins of her lover’s enemy

Of whom she is named through sins regretfully

 

Shrouded in darkness lays her dormant mind

Playing his last words over on rewind

This is how a romantic heart commits suicide

For doubt is the cemetery in which hope resigns