she watches the faeries dance outside her window
let us in, let us in, they whisper through the walls
the rainwater makes their delicate wings heavy
and she counts as—1,2,3—the faeries fall down
to the earth, bloated with acidic raindrops
she screams, i do believe in faeries, i do, i do
I DO!
she knows the faeries will awaken from this (im)mortal sleep
(because peter pan told her so&peter is neverNEVER wrong)
and she falls asleep snug as a bug in her twin!so innocent!bed
she trusts peter pan—&god—that the faeries are alive and well
(and she doesn't have to look because believing is seeing)
she wakes up the next morning, refreshed and content,
for she is the only girl she knows who can perform miracles
and she tiptoes down to faerie-town to receive their homage
the morning dew&broken faerie wings greet her bare feet
she is alone in a field full of purple pansies
(she has never seen a sight more beautiful than this)
so she plucks the pansies out of the ground—
in an attempt to make beautiful what is already so—
and when she twirls around in a purple pansy crown,
the hearts of the flowers start to bleed a vibrant red
and she is giggling as their blood streaks down her face
she is the Faerie Slayer, consecrated in her white nightgown&purple pansy crown
(but she knows that everything is really just god's fault—
because his tears were the murder weapon)