The Hand Maiden's Curse

 
Its blood runs in shades of vomitous green
and she cannot lick its wounds any more.
The last tail flick smashed her to the floor,
her skull crushed beneath its clumsy tread.


It growls and mewls, blinded by its crusted lids —
trapped in its lair, scraped skin provoking roars.
Which is the way out? No, this is further in...
The stench of guts and maggots is everywhere.


The blood has dried across split cheekbones.
She lays; her glazed eyes stare, a permanent grin.
No, wait, a flicker within — it is the fires of Hades
embracing its errant child. Soon it starts again...