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lexapro fairytales.
The goldenfaerie's hair has turned white
from the years spent in a poppy fields
searching for her ghost muse.
Only to find out he was a shadow teasing
and weaving in the wind.
In her absence the witches heart grew;
a black sponge soaking up cancerous madness.
Until it dried up fat, cracked and black.
The stars no longer dappled the night,
and the sun no longer burned for them.
Their days were hourless stretches of
dragon's fire and spider venom.
One morning they begged the trees
to allow them solace on their branches,
and solitude in their bark.
Despite broken wings and broomsticks
they could fly.
