off to neverland | poems

The steam from the pot rolled heavy across the air.
He played with my hair, fair 
but not.
There is something about the way he holds me
tight, but not so.
I’m still cold.
I walk out onto the street, to meet
with him 
off to Neverland we go
or shall I think
right before my eyes everything flashes
Neverland turned into never-turning-back.
I stair into the abysses of this cold, empty space
It’s not what imaged to face
This whole thing,
 I created it in my head,
a fairy-tail, a happily-ever-after,

turned dead.

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