What verdant limb
tore
the remnant
of
my soul
that you hunt me?
What spore of heart
did I scatter,
that you
search me out?
My desire for freedom
is as deep,
if not deeper,
than your desire
to kill it.
Yet
as I flee your arrows,
my Dark Artemis,
I wonder if I’m really
searching for
a trap,
that you may
claim me
Or a corner,
where I must fight
to keep my heart,
or die a trophy
in your embrace,
And wonder
which I’ll choose…
Beyond Panic 