I am running in the dark, trees, black wreathed silhouettes  that rise into the shadows

line my path.

There is pounding behind me, feet, hunters,

with spears that swoop and shush through the air like death.

They pierce my legs, my torso, rip through me and protrude like needles,

black blood slips from my mouth and I silently scream, hands like claws.

Then, near my face, a rose blooms in mid-air, golden and silver and pink

thorns of silk and a scent like heat and petals soft as skin

I reach out, it envelops me, lifts me up and we leave the spears behind.


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