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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