Your myth is one of libation.
Greedy, you eat green apples one by one
(I hope they make you sick.)
Your mouth is a desert.
On the window someone has written
Lions pace behind the closet wall.
This is my panorama.
I open the window and rise
Over time truly gothic fairy tales and fantasies get diluted—or forgotten altogether—by a modern obsession with the cute and the sweet, and above all, the innocuous. It made me think about the lies we tell ourselves about who we are, a childlike insistence of our own righteousness or innocence.