Taking A Stand


The taste of blood on her lips,

She opens them.

It drips,

On the floor,

She lays,

A dark pool in the midst of a glittering forest,

She wipes away the red metal.

Eyes open.



Filling, with the no longer eery energy of the darkness,

Seeping around her.

Taking a stand,

Reaching high above,

Blooming into an old wise oak,

Sturdy in its wake


But there will always be a chunk

A book filled with rotting bruised bones

In its root.


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