thee of juniper

Alone in the corpses of the life you'll leave behind. A bone between your cracking lips. Your canines, sinking down, down, down. Even when domesticated, you still reminisce on the strings of meat woven between your teeth.

The anchor shall keep you grounded. You will become one with the earth beneath your feet. Born in the womb of an entity, formed cruelly, a child crying out for its Mother.

You have no name for It. Not yet.

Hunger. An indescribable, wild thing. Scars, curling from the corner of your lips, aligned with the eye - split the seam, let it spill, otherworldly brightness. Prove you are still alive.

Golden and godlike among girls. Half-ritual, half-revenge, appeasing something ancient underneath the skin.

Your Mother is proud of you, little one.

You belong to the woods, now. Once buried, teeth of rocks, bones of crystal, you fought for your chance to live again. Surface survival. Screaming sanctum. Call yourself your saviour.

You are not like the others, spitting salt, bleeding out, fading back to dust. You have dug yourself back out of your own grave.

You are the survivor - the child - the sacred heart.

Above, Hell rages on. Fire rains, blood spills, rusting the metal of the golden gates, and you curl up in the embrace of your Mother.

It wraps Its arms around you, tucks Its lips behind your ear. You are known. You are known. You are known. You are kn—

The travellers come in waves.

The ground welcomes them, savours them, and holds them close. The trees bow down to greet them - you count their heads with your fingers. One to thirty-two. Not bad, you think.

A decent meal, you think.

The aspen trees watch you with widening eyes.