I recall a thrilling fall from grace,
secrets seeping into the once clean air,
turning it to thick, dark smoke that turned the morning sky to coal.
I called to you from my tower window,
my hair wouldn’t cooperate,
so you scaled the walls until your fingertips ran red,
and I pulled you through the broken glass,
the two of us,
still on the carpet, breathless.
My father thought you were frightful,
my tender love, the one that he could never see truly.
He viewed me as his Angel,
a blessing that fell from heaven,
but I was always wretched without you,
I simply had to have you.
He would pray over my virgin body as I slept,
never able to accept that I had given my body to you,
with God’s approval, so long ago,
and so his prayers were just whisper in the wind,
the Princess doesn’t want a Prince,
and sometimes, the King does not have command of ALL of his subjects,
the girl who’d crawl through broken glass after scaling a tower is a worthy suitor.
He prayed himself to death.
as you threw pebbles at my window,
he was chanting, guttural and low,
pleading and begging with a God that would see him as a Master,
and his heart grew heavy.
I woke up to him on the floor,
the saddest rug I’d ever seen,
and all I could see in his cold corpse was freedom.
The smoke said goodbye,
and the sun shined bright through my window.
I was the Queen,
and I was free.
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