Tell me a story to make me smile,
not to grin or even laugh awhile.
Just make your words brush my lips
enough for my dimples to crease and slip.
Spin me a tale of daring deeds,
of a child who only yearns to be freed,
and weaves a web of silken hair
until the strands become brittle and droll and fair.
Sing me a song that trembles with lies,
as a mind adrift on a sea of hushed lullabies,
basking in golden rays of wan sunfire
while skies of cobalt simmer and tire.
Allow me three wishes you’ll never grant,
they’ll haunt me with everything that they can’t
wilting beneath the want I’ll cling to,
to be such a cruel “possible” that they won’t do.
Tell me a story to make me see,
not to blind me more than I may already be.
Just make your words fester in my heart,
enough for my veins to weep and break and part.