Fear screams with my mother's voice
and leaves scarred marks on bark
with my father's hands.
Long blades of smoke roll from its nose
with the acrid smell of guilt and loss

Mud sucks at boots and pulls me back
as I run through the forest,
a panting yowl tears through the darkness
like the inside scream
of a playground wound.

Moss and vines pull at my tin armor

As I finish off the last of my tears,
my mind is left to feed on the fat
of my terror.

It has been weeks
It has been years
since I have rested on the moss,
next to my sister,
pulling the heads from dandelions,
making wishes
with their older brothers.

Sticks clip my skin
and raspberry thorns pull
at my pants.

A clearing is in sight and I eat
the smell of sunshine and the
cold waves of a drying spring day.

The noise grows louder as I fall
to my knees and drink from the
last drop of courage drying in the sun.

Fear has an axe.

I bare my sword
and turn to face him again.