A princess pats her throat,
knowing it is full of gold,
her eyes fixed on the arrows from Fleet Street,
knowing there is no path for them,
than the one they’ve always followed.
Straight to the throat,
taking the thoughts that fall from her mind,
down through her head,
stolen and splashed across pages of hatred,
so,
she locks herself in a tower,
pats her throat,
with a knowing smile,
saying,
without speaking,
that her story will be her own,
from now on.
