Once blinded by fairy dust and story,

I struggle into the day to day here

Where happy endings are stagnant glory

And living has brought more boredom than fear.

The knights in shining armor, there are none.

No slayers of dragons or long crusades,

Vampires falling prey to the morning sun,

Or a never land sporting masquerades.

No rainbow, no pot of gold, no specter.

I exist by the sword of green paper

Fighting the throes of the bill collector.

Until all my funding is a vapor.

The boundaries of Woolf are still true today

As reality thrusts its power play.