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Reverie
April 23, 2010
the path that sparkles beneath her golden slippers
guides her towards her wonderland.
black hair swirls behind her,
each strand a ribbon of gentle midnight
yearning for a million stars.
porcelain skin and blood red lips,
a fairytale.
she waits.
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I use it too much.
Also, this poem is kinda a metaphor, as much as I hate to use that term, for pretty much anything. See it as you wish.
:)