there is something deeply tragic
about a dream spent
turning over loss
and waking to life where it’s already there
though more ordinary and violent than it ought to be.
like the prince, he already came.
you already had his children.
they’re already old enough
to leave blood trails on your thumb.
the witch, she already died.
it’s like your future, your present,
are already in sharp relief.
someone put that needle in your hands.
but no one ever asked
if you wanted to wake up.