You dreamed there were dark things-

Men with scythes

Belladonna eyes,

A woman who knew

What your heart was made of,

A woman you murdered in your mind

Because you could not love.

Thorns and brambles that were your limbs,

Your madness,

Your memories.

You dreamed of dark things,

Black rivers running deep

In your captive sleep.

Grey meadow and bird,

The red word

Written into your flesh.

And the scars and scars

that were like unchanging constellations

On your arms

Where you had scratched

Like a starving hound

Until you bled.

And when they’d begun to heal

You’d scratch them open

Again and again.