Will somebody really choose a broken soul?
Will somebody really live up to one’s broken brain?
She’s out of her wits, she’s out of her mind
A cheery jumping monkey by day,
A sweet sad writer by night.
She’s drained and exhausted
As insanity consumes her in class
At the end of the day, the prince is not a prince for her
At the end of the day, the prince turns into a sleepy cat
And in this ideology, she was the prince
Although not literally, her mind blows up
With flowers popping everywhere
Expecting no one to pull her close and hold her tight
Saying “Hush now, little one, you I am here and you can just be silent and weep if you want,” or something like
“Ssh, it’s okay, I know often you become sad and happy and I can take you for what you are, thorns or no thorns,”
How does one knight in shining armor say such words when the world shuts their thoughts to her mindless talking and senseless humor?
How does one man carry such a broken burden, a walking madness, and a self-proclaimed mad writer?
In the midst of a crooked road, there lived a crooked man, and he loved a broken maiden from the hills of Crooked Land.
via The Daily Post