I hold onto my horse,
A carousel mess.
The ants are crawling
All over my dress.

It wasn't too rough
When I stole it last week.
But now the paint's peeling
In a long streak.

I needed it then,
To keep myself sane,
But treasures are
So often my bane.

It's my loveable pet,
No matter its form.
Yet I feel empty,
Lost in a blue storm.

The carousel horse
Will take me away.
I latch onto it now,
It's shining with day.

But this object of mine
Cannot conceal.
No not it's mane,
Not when I steal.

I have to return it,
But all in good time.
I've had it for a while,
Look at the grime.

Perhaps it's been more,
Than just one week.
But who knows;
After all the trees never speak.