No amount of time in heaven
Will make you less elliptical,
But go on with your fairytale.
You know just as well as we do,
Fairytale endings fail to end.
They tend to not be fairytales.
They were made to kidnap children,
As you were kidnapped in your sleep,
Little child you were, just waiting
For someone to start whispering
Between the lullabies, maybe
Even within the lines of them,
The stories the mind makes to prime
The next bone-shelled ecosystem.