handfuls of air

23: I had my castle,

my princess.

I firebreathed my life.

I was the dragon.

I built the walls to hold me in,

hoarded my money,

backed up my files,

wrote my will,

bought insurance,

stored my papers in a fireproof bag,

planned and replanned, fortifying.

What the fuck did I think I had?

In four fragile years, it crumbled.

Castles never fall; they melt

like butter into something messy,

grotesque, unplanned. Defeated,

I crawl inside what remains

and hope it hardens into a home.