The White Horse Maurder

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There's a fantasy number
Blighting reality in her path.

She whispers of cream dress weddings.
She speaks of fairy tail endings.

And thus began society
Screaming love is acceptable.

Enchanting romantics and Gothics alike,
Spinning unguarded hearts round her golden locks.

She makes many search,
After they've found treasure.

I alone have witnessed her wickedness.
Yes, her black lace has wrapped its way 'round
A plethora of hearts
and pulverized to fine powder.

She has eradicated my hold of reality.
Marred my trust in others.

Oh hail to the wretched princesses.
A fine glare thou deserve.

An ode to my "Prince Charming"
I lap up thy white steeds blood.

Gratitude for the wicked wrenches
For putting me on my guard.

There's a fantasy number
Laying in her glass sealed coffin...

Never to have true
loves
kiss.





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