Infatuation made her give the world away
for a price you can find in a sofa;
you can bet an evil man would pay it.
Smitten by the spark, from the very start,
she let time do too much of the talking
through her imagination, gluing together
the feathers of the wings of her angel
as she expected him to be.

But a devil, he had chosen to be.
Space between sightings became sinkholes of seduction,
he lured her down the road of desire
as she had mapped out in her head.
Finally where fate intended
she drew an X in the dirt and gave him a shovel,
letting him dig and dig and sweetly dig
until the gold was exposed.
He let her peek at it,
then snapped the lid shut.
He hit her with the shovel
and buried her in the hole
where his interpretation of treasure used to lie.

Now the girl knows not what to do
with all these red flags she ignored to get here;
she cries by herself in the dark.
Reality is never what you make by dreaming,
her expectations, such vast overestimations.
But I guess that is all one can truly expect
when you give the world away for free.