Holding on to patience wearing thin;
the days drag on, the feelings
spread further like a puddle
quickly spreading out.
I was a fool
for thinking that
I was a princess,
this was a fairytale.
There was going to be someone to
save this wretched form of mine.
Here I am, once again
on the urban cliff’s edge.
Penknife in one hand,
sleeping pills in the other.
Why only one way to die
when you can have three?
Now it’s too late for you
and your worn out, dusty, ill
white horse to catch me as I fall.
