The Tale of Sleeping Beauty, Who Kept Dreaming in the Face of the Wooden Spindle by Jerusha Abraham

I carry deep wounds over my skin, ????? once tore my flesh, dried blood I’ve not yet cleaned.

The spindle greets me, maker of the punctures that coat my skin, weaver of fate’s threads.

My cursed destiny, my dulled movements, the failures that haunt, the briars that creep.

My hundred years of slumber, I drift across the passage of time, the briars don’t cease.

My dreams doomed to stay unfulfilled, or doomed me to stay unfulfilled.

The briars multiply like pests, they crawl and crawl, they are all-consuming.

They bar me from the rest of civilization, my quiet corner of overgrowth.

They are unkempt, they are overrun. They are my captors.

What’s left to do, besides wait for liberation?

The briars prowl, an everlasting pursuit.

Their prickly thorns scratch the walls.

I am not responsible. I am unable.

I am incapable. I am powerless.

They suffocate my tower

Where I lost consciousness

I am unworthy I am lazy

I pricked my finger

My teeth greet me

They secure my

fragile flesh

Sharp as the

Spindle I bite

and bite and 

bite I can’t stop

Destiny?

Ha.