I’m worried about
Losing my edge
Actually wanting
That fairy tale
In the end.
Life was first
And I’ve had it.
The prince and even princesses.
Sex. Drugs. Snow globe worlds.
Alcoholism and addictions-
A few botched suicides
And a miscalculated abortion.
I surgically removed myself
From the life
And now I’ve got nothing to prove
(mostly because I didn’t bother
Keeping any evidence of it all).

The suitcase is all packed
And there’s plenty of time
For me to keep looking back-
Regret is something
That I don’t find clinging to my skin,
Instead a healthy reminder of oxygen
Floating within my blood stream
While I search for another stone to throw
And soon forget.