your voice so sweet and soft
a feminine lullaby
to tame the beast within
with girly girl ways
and doe eyes

the roses are dead
the violets are too
if you want to join them
i'll come with you

Our fixation with hand held machines
And replacing meals with soybeans
A spectator to arguments over vaccines
We're all underemployed and "getting-by" by other means
Living vicariously through our broken screens
Lobotomized and abused; nearly at-risk teens
Utterly lost in so many depression memes
Farmed and sent out from the Phillipines
Too desensitized to hear our own internal screams

Not of ancient lore,
or some cross to bear.
But here. But now.
No Prince Charming
at the castle door.
Only her, Miss Damsel herself.
In some paper city,
called Zilch,
where things fall apart fast.
She's trapped in no tower,
but a loft instead.
With tin-foil crown,
she climbs across
the kitchen table
to slay the dragon,
in the flames
of his own black-hearted
bedevilment.
A dagger to the heart
of the matter,
and all is quiet again.
Then with a satisfied yawn,
she retires for her afternoon nap.