She lives under a world accompanied by
Voices of unyielding fairies and prompting
Hellhounds. The room she’s entombed herself
In has no corner to crouch in. Soon these shackles
Of tribulation will strangle the fallen Titan and
The world will crumble down on top of her.
If only she’d wear the glass slippers I gifted her with,
The road behind her wouldn’t look so rocky.
And yet she continues to run up it. The breeze
Is deafening, the snow has frozen her eyes shut.
Her incessant weeping only bounces off the
Ageing sunrise. She screams at the unstirred skyline,
That retorts with its habitual white noise. She returns
Lethargic and embittered to her stifling cave, where
Those galling shadows cannot follow her.
But deep down in the residue of her heart, she knows
Their only trying to help.