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oh, prince. oh, charming.

i know you are better than this.

i see you walking, finger out, towards the poisoned spindle, ready to fall
)again(
into 100 years of thorns

and i yearn to snatch your hand back.

i see you bite into the old witch's poisoned apple,
ready to fall
)again(
into a glassy coffin

and i cannot stop you from swallowing.

i see you run from joy
)again(
and
)again(,
leaving your shoes on the stairs

and i cannot call you back.

i wish i could be your white-horsed hero.
i wish i could wake you with a kiss.

but we wake ourselves, my prince.
we wake ourselves

or else

we sleep.