At the witching hour I dig my knees into the forest floor, I let the ox blood pool in my cupped palms, I crow to the red moon as the she-wolf in my chest rips herself apart. Was it her who pushed too far, or did I test the devil myself, facing his divine rejection? The taste of iron curdles in my throat as my mouth gives birth to heart palpitations and wine gone bad. My ravens rot before me and I watch, rapt, as they swell and decay while time takes charge and slips back and forth. My head swims with the power of an unforgivable sacrifice and your face rises from the ashes, bursting into angelic flames and forever imprinting your well-lit hatred in my vision. “What have I done to you?” My voice is half rasp and part snarl, my tongue fighting against the sharpening teeth. The trees watch from on high, finally taking everything away from me once and for all.
[Written October 31st, 2016]