On that first day

you found me

and sat quietly in

the corner,

watching. The

patient hunter

watching me

dance on deer legs.

All knees and scars

and sunshine and you

sat, in the shadows, watching

me spin in the green

grass. Spin and spin

until I fell,

shot down by

youthful folly,

and when red drops

fell on bright green

grass,

then you were

no longer watching.

On that second day

you found me

and sat again,

watching. Predator

holding me by

the throat

as I paint my lips red

and laugh viscera

onto green

grass. Hooves

hidden in high heels

and bullet hole haunches

covered in a  

party dress.

And you sit,

watching.

On that third day

I find you

and I do not watch.

I gift you

bullet wounds.

Clean your blood

from the green grass.

That is mine now.

I do not watch.

By KB Baltz

From: United States