liquor,
penetrates the air
creeps under the door
settles on the breath
of a witch.
hissing, glaring, staring, kissing
on someone, anyone who walks by.
She spits fury and frustration
in all directions.
slurred words, glazed eyes,
heart of a monster…
I enter the Cave,
ignorant and vulnerable.
Through the dark,
her burning, malignant
eyes seek out a goat.
A blood vessel.
her past victims
scattered in pieces across the
beaten ground.
Pulp. Mangles. Tortured. Suffering
from the poison of her bite,
the remorseless dismissal of them just
inches from death.
She wants them to cling on…
I’ve heard stories.
Seen skeletons.
They warned me to stay away,
They call her badger,
snake, bloodsucker…
They’re convinced no one can survive her bite.
Well,
I don’t need liquor to mask my scent
or get blood in my eyes.
I’m from out of town,
and this bitch is about to meet the Wolverine.