The crazy lies, the incredible detail
of faerytales.  I keep a record of
each assertion; 

would we live differently if apples
were apples, not enchanted fruit
laced with poison?

I'm tired of magic;  it's a lovely thing
to die at the end of a story.  This is
exactly when we know

we've grown tired, insist on closing
the book before the treacherous
win everything and everything

is lost.

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