Pixie Dust

She dances around me like a fairy,
She’s barely anything
More than a couple dozen pounds
And she never frowns
But always comes around
Where I’m sitting still;
She frolics and builds
Around the curves of my nerves
While arousing my eyes
With a burn that yearns
To show this fairy how to fly.

She dances around secular decisions;
Faith in a dungeon
Slave to the conditions
Of a vicious conundrum
Similar to being spiritually undone.
She dashes with a quick run;
I scared her desires
Lit her fire and sang to her choir
A wicked blue tune;
A darkened high noon
With poisonous fumes
Not use to her pixie dust,
Her wings thrust
But can’t escape my marionette string net.

A bee line even in laymen terms
Is still observed as a pattern
Too complex with a convex curve
To match a twisted mind’s double-helix
Genetic composition that earned
A small amount of its worth.
This bee line shows lost time
In a dark forest by a lost fairy.
A scary Technicolor-on-tilt
Built hill without an escape route
And a lingering doubt
About fairies turned fire flies
In the Night’s eye fatal sight.

She used to be just like a fairy,
Dancing about the nice issues
With the gracious presence
Of a sweet refuge
From my villainous mind’s
Subtle contusion on the illusion
Of the conclusion
That the pixie dust should make.
No match for the angel tears
And the fearsome things they’ve seen
Through the mirrors
Of a pixie dust induced truce
To tighten a noose
And test the theory of gravity.