Thorns tighten round the neck,
Wicked words cloud her head.

The sharp little teeth of the
Bramble crown
Inject her perfect scruff

Her feet grow numb, one shoe off
The other still on.

Her eyes remain open,
Reaching for the door.

For when one closes,
Another opens up

But this
Stayed jammed, tight shut.

She longed for this hanging,
To be the way out.

To escape the clasping hands
Of hoofed devil.

But as her blood pooled
And failed to clot.

She released, life was
Everything she thought it not.