Skinwalker

Rustling grass as I sprint towards the dimly lit cottage, I feel the soft silk touch of nature rub against the thick cut on my leg. Out of breath, yet I can’t afford to rest. Forcing my way in, frantically barricading myself in what little safe space I have. There’s one way in and no way out. All I can do is sit and wait. The familiar foul smell of a dumpster fire creeps closer; the walls bleed with grease and oil. I could’ve sworn there were stairs in here…

Your flesh is divine,
I’ll wear your skin, be your twin
Bones snap in the dark.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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