you see things in the woods.
night visions darker than dreams.
close behind you, a shimmery fabric
stitched to death by poets
ripples little-red-riding-hood-style, flaring
out and around your sick head, reality-proof.
you walk the path of willow rosenberg,
knowing how it always ends.
wolves and witches innately understand
that all things are cyclical. like prophecy,
you cried when he left, as if you had lost
the known world, your imaginary utopian
au where he lured you deep into his lair and did
things you only spoke of in nsfw threads on discord.
now, fangs press sweet into your lower lip, pulling
long, honey-colored strands of hair you buried
four years ago. you learn there is no true heart
of the forest; there are several, beating beneath
gnarled roots. a lingering scent in the air as something
howls an ancient song composed of broken promises.
and to this damned day, you still feel strong hands
creep under the rips in your jeans. enough of a claw
to leave you starving afterwards, empty
as a new moon, swallowed by the sky.
anna arden (They/them)
anna arden is a bisexual, nonbinary disaster of a human (?) with a BA in Creative Writing from Piedmont University and a borderline unhealthy obsession with Buffy The Vampire Slayer. You can find them punctually screaming on their Twitter @ardentlywritten.