Cinderella.

I have this fairytale woven into the crevices of my brain.
It allows me to travel to magnificent places and dream extraordinary things.
The life I yearn for is tangled up in this little imaginary ball of string.
This ball grows incessantly, forming a tumor.
It is a cancerous tumor – slowly suffocating my reality: inhibiting me from growing and living an honest life.
Hydrochloric acid replaces the blood in my brain, surging through it like water out of a faucet.
Attempting to kill this tumor, I scream while tears are rolling down my warm, red cheeks.
I want to carve it out with a jagged knife, just so I can sew it back up.
I want it to leave a scar, I want to remember.
I want to finally be capable of recognizing and appreciating the beauty in each day that I am alive.


I have been living a lie for as long as I can remember; trying to make my reality live up to the marvelous ideas inside my head, and everyday fell short.
I want to be reminded to care for my imagination as if it were a child; I need to tend to it daily, making sure it's not strong enough to overpower me.
I need to live in reality, and I think I'm finally getting there.