Scheherazade

Tell the tale.Tell it 

often. Change just a bit

to stay the execution.

No love lost. No love

gained. No field of 

headless women. He

was not the mad king.

He wasn’t much of 

anything. Just another

story. He sat on

the coffin that you

built for yourself—

immovable despite

your wails and roars.

You stayed and you stayed

and you stayed. A thousand

and one new details

for the same old story. 

But now you are free

to be trapped in

your next fiction. The 

aftermath of misery

without company—

no shield from real life.

A victimless crime

if you do it to yourself.