A ring of crimson,

Where her lipstick stains the cigarette,

She keeps between her teeth.

Another pack,

Another secret swept beneath.

A dress of purple,

That she slides onto her thin frame,

Silk against her marred back.

Another scar hidden,

Another story shaded in black.

A flash of blue,

As she winks at the face she knows so well,

Staring back through the shattered mirror.

Another image distorted,

Another suicide nearer.

A blade of faded green,

As the last patch of grass in downtown New York City,

Gets trampled by her careless feet.

Another scoff at nature,

Another death bittersweet.

A cascade of gold,

When she releases her blonde mane,

Curling Rumpelstiltskin's thread.

Another man up the tower,

Another ache in her head.

A glimmer of silver,

As she sheaths the blade she's told to keep,

When she stalks the alleys late at night.

Another street-corner girl,

Another shattered pearl.

Silver and gold meet,

As she takes the blade to her tresses,

And hews them off at the shoulder.

Another barbershop mishap,

Another girl grows older.

If Snow White was known for her fair, beautiful skin,

Is my sunbathing a sin?

If Rapunzel had known that men could climb hair,

Would she have cut it, like me, without a care?

If Cinderella's slippers were as uncomfortable as they looked,

Was it on purpose that she kicked them off, so recklessly overlooked?