I’m in a wood and it’s dark.
Trees compete to thrust their limbs
Above the earth. Their branches twine and tease, 
Threading my hair into knots,
Wet as moss. 
           I’m in a wood and I’m running,
And the leaves lash out harder than my pace. 
They smack me like shadows,
Full of reproach,
Carrying the night forward, onwards,
           forever.
In the shortest breath, I hear the thud 
Of paws behind —
Claws cutting a fine line
Through the drench,
Splitting the path
Into ruinous halves.
             With each step, each breath — 
Deeper and deeper,
Like a dream, like a dread —
                                                  I’m running,
Then sprinting, but nothing feels fast enough. 
And all I can feel are the brambles
Piercing my feet as the wolf closes in,

And I glance over my shoulder 
To see him now
Unhinge his jaw.

– Daniella Clarke

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