Rain falls fiercely against my hot cheek.
Through the dark dank summer, looming
Figures appear holding three black umbrellas
Made of sunlight. Crow cry out their bleak
Melancholy within the fuming
Shade, sing stories of lost Cinderellas.
As the first lifts her moss covered hood
The moon’s rays catch her face in night’s day.
Charcoal hair spikes up to the sky, deep red
Lips murmur forgotten truths. There stood
The Snow White skin. Her soul ran away.
Her dwarves did her wrong. Her tears are all shed.
Once golden hair does blandly drop down
When the hood is removed from the next.
Hard circles of love now purple her eyes,
Bloodshot sarcasm framed by a frown.
They will not sleep till he comes. Vexed
Will her Beauty be till Sleeping she dies.
Slowly the last reveals her face.
I gasp as the scales glisten and dance
A cruel jig beneath long fiery hair.
Heart of song but mouth covered in lace
Where no sound will protrude. No romance
Be found in lies of a prince, just despair.
They waited and waited for all to
Be true, but all that was left was three
Starless ladies with no where to go. Head
Broken by men and an old sparkly shoe.
Three knees hit the floor, one silent plea.
That night was the last one I ever read.
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