No airy fairy she,
As she hangs in arsenic green
From a highly impossible tree
In a highly impossible scene
(Herself not over-clean).
For days don’t suffer, I’m told,
From bunions, coughs, or cold.
You are tired,
(I think)
And so am I.
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via vveepy)