Then, a sickening rush,
anticipation deafening,
brings the fear of wondering,
shimmering and strong. . .
will I be predator or victim.

The pungent feral scent of prey
fills my nostrils, slaps my face
back and forth until blood trickles--
tasted,
the hunger begins.

Pre-dawn finds me naked, torn,
bleeding uncontrollable streams,
tufts of hair and skin curled in
crimson fingers, but wait--I know
I am innocent, incapable of this,
that this must be a dream.

A cruel and tasteless
joke of a dream, right?

Joseph Roque, was last seen in the woods of New England-- seducing nature and gathering words in glass jars while avoiding capture by Merlin's Shadow Warriors. Most recently, his poetry has appeared in Silver Wings Magazine, MadSwirl.com, A Tender Touch and A Shade of Blue, RagMag.org, eMuse-zine.com, Aphelion, A Long Story Short, Psychopoetica, Cerebration, Censored Poets, The Poet's Haven, and is forthcoming in Zygote in my Coffee.com.