Fairytale

A poem about despair

Fairytale

At night she sleeps
raised five feet from the floor
mattress, pillows,
blankets aplenty
Her face half bathed
in moonlight
closing her mind to
the howling wind.

The bed offers no rest,
evil lies at the core.
Rejection bruising
her already battered soul.
Sleep is dreamless,
offers no respite;
As doors close behind her
she closes her heart.

Examines her hands,
turns them over once more
as if they hold answers,
or means to entangle
indiscernible threads,
multi-coloured, knotted
no end,
no beginning.

Like a spinning-top
a glass rolls on the floor;
losing momentum
it lies there
next to her,
barely touching her hand
beckoning:
Go on, have some more!