Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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Naked valleys

Her right eye has missed me, and now the doe can't hide, She feels naked. She lacks a place to go. She tries, But I'm faster. Her throat is tender, the blood gushes Between my teeth. So good. I enjoy. Now remain only bushes For concealment. The last trees have gone back To the soil, enriching the sparse remnants of the park. I feel naked, without the trees. I feel endangered, I scan the area. Nothing. My heart pumps, it is angered. That smell, the wolf. It has sensed me. It has bitten me. My life pours out of my throat. I feel light, eluding gravity. That's their fault, if the wolf has caught me, has won The last of my flesh. Without trees, I was easily stunned. She feeds me. He feeds on me. We both are dying, But not at the same pace. The forest is crying, Yet nothing's done for its survival. So we keep living In a soon-to-be-forgotten world of trees in vitrines.