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Hecate by Morgan Migliorisi

Dec 1

2 min read

1

17

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Midnight, or almost, deep red in hand,

stomping through crunchy leaves and

snapping twigs, unable to quiet my anxiety.

A subtle burning in the stomach; tighten my

grip around the bottle neck, the trees extend

bony arms that wish to pull me away.

Am I crazy, what am I doing here,

why did I come, I must be crazy – no – I believe!


The stars, specks of cat hair glistening

in the light of the moon, a pearl brooch,

resting on a black velvet sky, over the clearing.

Beneath the celestial bodies, three

pathways appear, The Crossroads.

Three torches held by three arms

burning bright orange in the trees,

accentuating the burning in my stomach,


a blood-curdling howling nearby.


And you appear, mine eyes fall on you,

my body aflame, sourced from the heat

in the pit of my stomach.

Trembling and moaning, I

dig my heels into the dirt,

sweat urging the bottle to slip away,

and I hold it tighter, aghast by

my arrogance (or ignorance?).


The ground rumbles beneath my feet,

the black hound leaps into the clearing,

glowing red eyes follow you,

your guardian, you master.

Closer you come, and my

feeble human mind cannot

comprehend all that you are,

my head hurts, and no longer is

the bottle the only thing that

teases slipping away.

Foam and spittle drip from

the fangs of your dog, your eyes


are dark, reflective of the void

from which you came.

You stand before me, three heads of

bull, horse, and wolf, the scent of

decay, earth, and roses.

I offer you the wine, you crush

the bottle with one finger,

glass shards rain around me

and I descend into oblivion.

Dec 1

2 min read

1

17

0

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