Imaginary wood
She groped in the darkness
And felt cobwebs wrap her fingers
In sticky silk
But it didn’t matter.
Though the rock over her head
Dripped eternal drips
And the air was
Rancid with rats,
In her heart a blazing fire
Burned, pushing her along.
The flames licked her throat,
Warming it against the damp.
Things crawled over her feet
With tiny piercing claws
And scratched a repulsive retreat
Down the terrible tunnel.
She knew the fire was fuelled
With imaginary wood
Which would,
One day,
Inevitably turn to ash.
But it was all she had.
