Wherever she goes not a flower can bloom.
And ones that were there before wilt and then die.
Wherever she rests not a bird will you hear.
The animals flee as the lost children cry.
She lures them away and then tears out their lungs.
She feeds on their hearts and she smirks at the taste.
She rips off their skin and then hangs it to dry.
She grins even more as the blood streaks her face.
Nothing is left of them, not even bones.
They're ground up and then used to powder her chin.
She uses the skin as a shawl when it rains,
For that's when she creeps and she tries to get in.
And once in the rain she goes searching for them:
The poor, lonely children who think they're alone.
She calls them by name and entices them near
Until they are stolen away from their home.
(2015)
