The yells broke dead of winter 

Woke each sleeping hare and tree

Ignited fires from old splinters

Said the smoke all points to me

 

It must be true if she so cried it,

That I hid in guilty waters,

Exact a fate that’s predecided,

Open up your house of slaughter

 

Your mind made a monster

Of a child lost in youth,

As your hands crowned the honour

To the performer’s beguiled truths.

 

You wouldn’t believe that what stood there

Weary gaze and patience thin,

Beyond my wounded, prideful glare

Was but a sheep in wolf’s skin

 

I saw resolve in your eyes flicker

Like an lamp’s old dimming light

But snuffed was its lonely shimmer

Because your world is black and white.

 

I shook the wonder from my hellos

And the rosy glimmer from my eyes

As I pace your stoic roads

Still trudging these crooked lines

 

Did the butcher stow her blade

As she peeled away the wolf’s fur?

You knew I’d never go with grace

No matter how our stories blur.

 

Ropes fell, your verdict waned,

Forced me back through every pace,

Addressed letters to your flames,

That burned new wounds just to erase.

 

Is it morning? Can I go?

Jumped the fence in my escape

Crimson trails on icy snow

As I reject your given fate

 

They still sting, I hope you know,

Every torn heartstring and ache

You had me buried under stone

As she cried wolf to every face.

​

— 21/06/21