She is a wounded
harbor of scars & secrets.
She pulls on her boots
and slips into the beat up Carhartt.
Her breath snatched by the midnight air beneath
a full moon reflecting off crystal grass and fallen leaves.
The big yellow horse nickers low
as she approaches his pasture, apple in hand.
The familiar crunch is comforting, she
runs her hands over his body, feeling his warmth.
She rides in darkness, distancing
herself from the demons who dance in her dreams.
Hooves beating rhythmically,
she feels her heartbeat fall to match his pace.
Giving her strength to fight
on against all that is hell bent to destroy her.
She knew the taste of cum before she
How do you fix that?