Truth is, my life was no fairytale, that afternoon, I lay, a smiling corpse under a glass sky, a rotten apple lodged in my throat like a black lump of cancer, your sloppy kiss dying on my lips.
Did you really believe a kiss could cure the poison galloping through my veins, as you stood there, with your ugly white horse, the voices of dwarfs buzzing like flies in the apple-scented air?
I wish you could see me now, how I take to the sky, a witch without a broom, an empty black silhouette with stars for teeth, spooking deer into briar patches, swallowing the shadows of trees.
I wish I could slip into my beautiful white flesh, just once, my pretty white feet stuffed into black slippers, my poisoned-breath fogging up the smiling mirror. If only you could see the light pouring from my skin. If only you could hear the songs my bones sing.