the view from the deep dark woods

I'm fed up with     toppled fairy tales.

I am tired of     the redeemed wicked.

Sometimes the     dragon wants to devour the knight

with his mouth     as hot as a dying star. Sometimes

the witch has     insides made of hideous things.

So where does     that put us?

In my life, the     circles of people who understood me

and people who     liked me never overlapped.

I don't know if     that makes me a knight or a dragon.

I don't know if    that makes me a little boy or a witch.

And then, of     course, there’s you.

And when I     think of you I think of a

dark and deep     woods, with sharp teeth

like yellow     torches in the shade,

with the taste     of a winter mist so alive I groan,

the raw, wet     heat that gathers in your eyes

when you're about     to cry, etc, etc.

You were always the     wolf. We both know this.

What are you doing     here?

Wrong question,     try again.

Is the wolf such     a bad thing to be?

Closer.     If you are the wolf,

who am I?     Bull's-eye.

You know, we     could be soulmates in a twisted way.

What's a fairy tale     if not a horrified romance?

Needle and curse,     temptation and

cannibalism,     bloody apple and

mouth, wolf     and terror. Is that me, then- 

the one who is     afraid of the wolf?

trick question.     I know.

Everyone is afraid     of the wolf,

whether you are     a henchman or hero or

helper or victim     or witness or even

the wolf himself.     There is good and bad

and then there is     the terror

hanging heavy over     the whole world- 

it doesn't help me.