I stoked the fire
Until the wood turned blue
And it was hot enough for you.
Spiky furred, razor teeth clacking like typewriter keys
You rolled through the old forest through the dense briars
Under the dead leaves over the hollow skulls
Searching for drowsy prey fat from its own conquests.
You’d appeared in the forest centuries ago.
Different from any other earthly creature,
You were the unwelcomed wickedness
The forest had dreamt up.
Because life in the woods isn’t hard enough,
I guess. Not desperate not clawing not howling enough.
No. Even in the most desolate backwoods,
I suppose the Devil will have his say.
Nothing but bone without a face
Without skin, without the warm
Mask of blood.
The skull lies abandoned in a clearing
Staring up at the bright stars
It cannot see.