Change in chance.

This is a story.

It could be about the fake tin soldier who lost his weapons in heat.

Maybe it was the huffing mane’d lion who could only but crawl.

Or the insane feathered parakeet. Plumes et al.

All of that could be.

This though is my story.

And I end it here.

Because all of you are cowards to read further and me too brave to finish it.

My story is mine alone.

It has fantasies and sordid crimes.

Mysteries and bales of unraveled paper.

Music and monarchy.

Misfortune and marmalade.

No breakfast,mind you.

None of that for me.

I'm just a rag doll.

I look along with big eyes and a blank expression.

I lost my smile to love.

I won in defeat.

I grew with wonder and saw her leave.

My teenage woes were fructified.

I was assuaged to a ravaging lunatic.

My artistry was ripped apart and my con identity was shattered.

Now I lay down under the indigo sky with a hint of umber and rose hue. Also just a little bit of purple.

The moon peeks at me. My eyelashes play hide and seek with the stars.

I am making love to the night sky. It is faithful. Celestial and wholly accepting.

The stars dim now, as I watch them fluttering my lashes.

The moon is a cradle and I can almost see fairy dust sprinkle around me.

My lover was lost in a war and he found a mate elsewhere.

So here I lay like a log waiting for the sky to tear open and engulf me.

Clean slate my existence and deny my being.

My belief however staunch goes along with it, into a black hole of sorts.

I am nothing and this is the beginning.