Wander in the Woods with Me
Jurnee Evans
Do you want to wander in the woods with me?
Feel the dewy grass and soft moss between our toes?
It’ll feel like those first days of spring when the flowers
finally start blooming red and verdant again
and you feel free from the frozen fear of winter.
Taste the golden rays that soak into our skin?
They’ll dance across your tongue all fizzy and sweet
just like the orange soda your mother used to buy you
before she walked out on you and your dad.
Laugh loudly when we race each other to the nearest clearing?
Your heart will pump hard and fast to keep up with your swift feet
as you zoom through every obstacle like the track star
you once thought you could be.
Touch the smooth bark of every tree we pass?
You won’t be able to resist reaching out to caress
each one with the love and comfort
you would pet your dogs with.
Breathe in the smoke of past bonfires?
The scent will tickle the back of your throat
like the spicy food you make for yourself
when you are all alone at home.
When you’re small and naïve,
it is too easy to trust anyone.
You trusted me
and all of the empty
broken promises
I made you.
But you had to trust someone,
so why not me?
And you’ll know your mistake
when you realise the sky has gone dark
and that I have taken you in so deep.
The flora is thick and suffocating
in mottled green leaves that reach out for you
and hybrids of deadly plants that whisper your name.
The fauna is deformed and towering
in creatures that almost look like deer or birds
but their bones are so close to the surface.
And your heart is pounding to escape your ribs
as strongly as your feet attempt to
escape me.
But it is too late.
You should have looked closer
sooner.
Breathe in the rotted and decayed flesh of past victims.
The stench will fill your lungs and reach out to your head
in dark and smoky tendrils wrapping themselves
around your already foggy thoughts.
Touch the sludge-covered branches as you try to run.
The once inviting warmth they radiate feels too familiar
and almost like the pulsing of human flesh
that you will regret ever feeling against your skin.
Laugh nervously when you meet the dead ends of my maze.
They all look the same and blur together into the harshly
crafted symbols and words I created them with to
make you think you are losing your mind.
Taste the darkness that burrows deep into your skin.
It feels like some poison that no-one has ever drunk before
like it was specially made for you and your tongue
by cursed and evil-doing hands you once thought were kind.
Feel the dripping vines wrap around your ankles to keep you here.
They pin you down to the forest floor where you can get a better
look at the kaleidoscopic flowers blooming sharp thorns
and the frothing mouths of what are no longer animals.
You can’t escape me.
You never could.
I will be the one to tell you
that I am done with you
when I spit you out of my teeth
and throw you to the wolves.
You will wander in the woods with me.
I Will Pick Flowers for You
Jurnee Evans
When I close my eyes,
I taste your blood
running red down your cheeks
and staining my fingertips
to paint yourself into my flesh
with the fading love in your eyes
and the pain
your final breath holds.
Sometimes now
I have trouble remembering
that we lived in such happiness
on the wings of ravens
and the evergreen buds of laurels
because it has been morphed
into distant memories,
replaced with blood-soaked
tears dousing purple petals
blooming from the unforgiving earth.
But I do remember
the empty, ancient feeling overwhelming my mind
as I held you shivering,
bleeding,
dying
in my arms,
and all those lost moments of
our tender kisses shared between oak trees,
our bruised knuckles guiding my car down dusty roads,
our stolen glances burning bright across stadiums,
our careful fingers brushing the strings of the guitar I gave you,
our fallen hearts beating in time as we drift off to sleep on your couch
seeped into my bones and blood until
all I could feel was aching.
And you know
how I can’t stop blaming myself
for how the disc struck you,
cutting open your thoughts
and flowing them out of you
in deep bloody rivers
onto my shaking hands
that begged for your soul
to remain here with me
on our goddamned world.
After a while,
with my grief and mourning still
encasing my heart like unrelenting vines,
I will gather the flowers
that grew from your blood and dreams
and kiss each blossom,
thinking of how much I love you
and trying not to shed more tears
over the life you didn’t get to live.
And I will feel your name on my lips again.
A b o u t
Jurnee Evans is an English major concentrating in Creative Writing with minors in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Film Studies graduating from EIU with their bachelor's in May 2022. They have been writing fiction since the age of 10 and discovered their passion for poetry through their time at EIU. In addition to being a writer, Jurnee is also a visual artist, avid reader, tarot enthusiast, drag performer, animal lover, horror connoisseur, and activist; all these passions, but especially the latter two, tend to bleed into their writing. Jurnee is @silhouettecrow on all social media platforms.