Unwritten Dreams

I live in fairytales composed by a violent author.

She paints me in white and calls me the martyr.

The milky shades run down my skin in harmony

Until her undying ink becomes a part of me.

I live in fairytales burned at the witching hour.

Thirsty flames turn all my sweet endings sour.

Screeching gasoline runs down my skin in agony

As my unwritten dreams become their own parody.

-JW