I should’ve known
You’d feed me to the forest floor again
I’ve read medieval tales,
Guessed each gluttonous end
The maiden dies by the sword of her love,
Or resigns to playing pretend
I won’t stubbornly awaken
I won’t touch my flesh
To your jagged, poison edge

Your iron briars wither
Down to their sharpest point
Through the deepest wood and bone
They slice