Work Text:
Cenotaph
Once upon a time you were a big, bad wolf
who met a young woman in the forest
but you learned it wasn't you
who was the monster.
-
You called her lover.
She called you flint and steel
and kissed you so you didn't hear her say it,
kissed you until you rolled over
and showed her your belly.
You let her pull your fangs
and fill the wounds with embers and the other corpses of fires.
Now you breathe out clouds of smoke and soot,
now you breathe in and taste the names of the dead.
-
She was the first to use you
like a tool to be wielded.
She was one of many who'd teach you
the stages of grief.
-
You returned home a prodigal son,
but no one was there to welcome you
or forgive you;
now all you've got left are black wounds,
charred deep and spiraling down into your flesh
(to remind you who you are),
wood ash darkening your veins,
and the flames you let rage behind your ribs
(so you'll always remember).
-
Carry her fire, carry it in your chest;
carry their souls, carry them beneath your skin.
-
Once upon a time you were a big, bad wolf
who met a young woman in the forest
and she huffed and she puffed
and she burned your heart down.