I didn’t want.
Yet I was still waiting for the fairy tale to start.
Always thought there’d eventually be a happy ending.
At least somewhere down the yellow brick road.
The paint faded.
Cracked and revealed plain old red.
The road crumbled.
The winding ended, no path laid out.
And still a dream is a wish the heart makes
– but I’m oh so ever awake.
Pages wrinkled and folded,
With a simple ‘The End’ the book closes.
This story has no happy ending.