The Bad Wolf Poem by Erin Dawn Deneys 2

The bad wolf trapped her far from home,
The dark hunter of fleshed dreams,
A shadow less prowler in the dark holes we dig,
In the long nights we spend to assure ourselves,
That our bodies will never be found.
Yet blame the tree's, blame their leaves.
For their shelter held no protection for her,
Even deeper were the woods of his mind,
Even darker and more twisted were the trees that held his thoughts.
And it was in their depths that she lost her way,
Night could not match the depths of his eyes,
That extinguished love and fed lust.
A lust that rendered all paths of escape useless,
Twisted together,
Seared away by the flameless emotion.
His words flooded the sky,
Raining down on a thirsty world ready to drink it's end.
What was fight worth against an invisible evil?
And evil that burned,
With smoke to choke the scream.
For his fingertips were fire,
His slow breath infused with flame,
The heated passion rose,
As the hunter sought his prize.
His burning need a force,
His pulse a throbbing snare,
His kisses held the sins of time,
That never begged for air.
The erg would not cease,
The warnings weak,
As her body soon gave way.
Lost were the delicately hooded secrets,
And in bloody ribbons,
The red cloaked innocence,
Flowed away with the stream.
Leaving behind a dark that built,
And gingerly crept,
And filled the little red rider with a hunger of her own...