first act on repeat

a part of me
clings to the pages
of this first act
time has proven
that once
the second act begins
the hidden aspects
turn me
from love interest
to villain
begins to creep
along the edges

am i the
in this ironic tale
misadventures through
the bottom rung
i wasn’t
born on the wrong
side of the tracks
but this unwanted
bundle of joy
was left
on the cold metal bars
as the train
came rolling
through the night

so you’ll excuse me
if i revel
in sweeping in
on a white steed
gallantly dispensing
empty poetry
from a quiver
of cupid’s broken arrows
knowing that this
only ends
in my own vanquishing
but goddamn
i want so much more
in a world
that gives
less and less
calling it all
too much

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