Remember that scene
where Dorothy clicks her heels
three times and she’s home again,
home again, no place like home again?
Well that’s all bullshit.
You have to watch for falling houses
around here, witches getting murdered
left and right, a woman can’t even throw
a poison apple in this place anymore without
somebody throwing water on her sister.
That’s the real story.
And shoes that don’t fit.
Doesn’t matter how pretty
they looked on the other girl
when they don’t fit, they don’t fit.
They can see your feet shrinking,
shriveling into tiny dried bags of henbane,
a small mushroom cloud trailing
behind your every step, the stench
luring in the predators.
So don’t be fooled by their sheepskins,
their glistening fangs tucked
under their fat, swollen tongues.
They hide just over that rainbow.
It’s a fairytale you know.
They’re just biding their time
waiting to take a bite.
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