Cursed and Curious

Deep in the woods,
disguised by splintered branches and the shadows they show me,
I saw him.
Torn tatters of my terror on the tip of my tongue,
a scream that does not come,
my destructive demons are back at the border to his world,
and there has never been enough of my soul left to save me.
I wait for him to make a move,
the moon, making light of my darkest day,
the myth of a safe evening,
a chaste wander in the woods,
where nothing happens to girls in red,
and they arrive home, safe and sound.
He has my grandmother’s eyes,
clasped tightly in his fist,
and I am lost to the lycanthrope,
my eyes, a pretty edition to his necklace of sad gazes.

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