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Tonight I throw away
the tattered security blanket
that never protected me anyway
from anything real,
only imagined.
Tonight I am liberated
from the womb
of modern fables
naked and kicking
into the monochromatic gray
of everyday drivel.

Whenever the sun set
my life would begin
not anymore,
starting today.

Today is the birthday of realism.

Today the alarm clock
goes off
and the dream ends
and tonight all the
princesses with curfews
and Prince Charmings
and their white horses
will be cinders
in the castle’s many fireplaces
and the streets will be lined
with ruthless criminals
and grotesque deformities
and unromantic dangers
and I shall walk
eyes forward
and indifferent
my sensibly shod feet
evenly treading
the cold, cold, concrete
my fist in my pocket
wrapped around
the sharp knife
of overdue disenchantment
ready to fend off muggers
that are lurking
cloaked by my own shadow.

.

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