Infatuate.

Hope, strung high, oh-so high up there among the stars.
but never was my heart meant to go that far.
love you say? a masquerade, but feels like no other,
an act, a play, nothing like that i must say, no "call me when your sobers"
but for me right now, as the clock strikes twelve, and even if dear cinderellas running out,
I have to sit by the stairs and think, what troubles that glass shoe could bring?
Hope, now buried below, what you reap is what you sow.
-christiansng,3SB