Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence and mature content.
Young and bold, his
Trickster eyes hold me
clutched in his unforgiving game.
Gnarled branches ensnare me,
thick and twisted as oiled corvid feathers
brush angrily against my snowy skin.
His frozen grip rips at my soul
clawing conquest over me,
unaware how freely I would give it.
I fall further, deeper into
his poisoned forest--where
painted flowers devour Innocents,
the earth is in the sky,
and the stars kiss my feet.
This is where I long to be.
The Corvid caws, the Wolf leaps.
His glossy wings envelop me.
My master, my Snorok King,
dipped in purest gold,
painted in the skins of
dark and cunning serpents.
I breathe him in. His toxic scent,
pulsing out of every pore,
drowns my heart in numbing bliss.
The Fates, three, cackle
"you will not come out alive"
In this game, no one survives.