Narrative

(With apologies to the Brothers Grimm and Mother Goose.) 
Mirror on your sturdy wall, 
aren’t you ever scared you’ll fall? 
To break into a million bits: 
Right next to Jack Horner 
who’s crying in his corner, 
and he’ll use you to slash his wrists? 
His bride, Little Miss Moffat, 
will fall off of her toffat: 
Spilling her curds and whey. 
She’ll crack her poor head, 
and then she’ll be dead. 
And all will cry in dismay. 
All except the Snow White child, 
crying false tears as she'll smile 
throughout the funeral procession. 
She’ll steal the whole show 
and then she will go. 
To upstage is her profession. 
3 little pigs will make a meal 
of salmon and chicken and of the veal 
they’ll serve right after the wake. 
They knew Jack Horner not, 
and don’t care if he rots: 
As long as they can claim their steak. 
I must be so very fucked, 
‘cause all I see is strife. 
Mr. Mirror paints a Grimm portrait 
of the story of my life.

Story of my life.