Carnivals are priceless

suicides in cotton candy coating

till its sticky like

the kisses on your

cherry little lips

from lollipops spinning

till you fall too far

and dream of merry-go-rounds

as you sleep with all your shame,

thinking you might just

-forget-

to wake all the way up.

And aren't you just lovely?

as your dancing in the rain that falls

beneath your shimmered eyelids

in the dress you made from

peppermint string and sequined daydreams.

It's your little sugar-soaked world

of pretty pretending,

covering the much too acidic lies

when you said you were afraid to grow up,

what you really meant was that you're afraid

to live.