Red

The flutter of crimson in wayward scenes.

The freshness of dew drop grass.

My heart is pumping

and my legs move fast,

the moment it streatches

feels like millenia past.

The door askew 

of hinges its bare..

and I look around the corner

it's looming in there.

Fur like needles 

and claws much sharper,

if fear is a smell

I must reek of it.

The dark feeling sinks deeper

as it turnes and eyes meet.. 

Its my grandma 

covered from head to toe in wolf's hide.