She’s sleepwalking in a neon wonderland,
holding hands with monsters in red,
allured by the thought of something grand,
even as her wounds tore open and bled.
She closes her eyes to resume the healing,
while those around her continue to take,
completely she depends on the feeling,
struggling to separate the real and the fake.
She’s beautiful in her dress made of stars,
everyone overly eager to offer a drink,
but she’s not impressed by money and cars,
reserving admiration for those who make her think.
She relentlessly endures suitors flirting,
amateurs unaware their chances are zero,
one by one she leaves them hurting,
until the day comes when she finds her hero.