I’m starting to think these happy endings are a myth.
I sure ain’t no princess, and haven’t met my ‘prince’.
I’m in love with the bad guy filled with rage and jealousy.
It’s so funny.
Every story I was told with all the ‘morals’ and tales
were tales and nothing more.
Sleeping beauty is me.
Except there’s no prince to wake me up.
No Prince to hold me close and take me away.
Rapunzel is me on other days.
Locked in a room,
except I like it on my introvertive days.
We all know Cinderella was a lie.
I’d prefer sweet cocaine airforces to glass slippers.
Surely glass slippers would break?