You are reading a lie, but you don't know it.

Sheltered in the expanse of your country home, swathed in the comfort of your cashmere cloaks,

You are golden and grand and guileless.

The whole world sits, locked away in your dresser drawer, inside a snow globe.

Your nimble fingers stretch and splay out over the pages

Feeling the imprints of the words you don't understand, the Braille on my skin you can't really feel

Your heart stays warm while mine goes cold in the chill outside

Your eyes stay blind while mine flutter open

Your manicured nails dig into my palm while I pull away

You live in a fairytale, but I live in the newspaper.