The Red Walk

They call this path the red walk
My mask is made of the dead
My feet know every cobble stone
Every crack etched in my head

No need to see the gnawed bones
That litter the grass on either side
I knew them when they were flesh
Before the insects took their hide

The insects scurry from my footfall
In hope they have not been seen
Marks of their dead cover my arms
They call me the Bitten Queen

I can see the tree line approaching
Where I and the Yellow King can talk
And shed this anger and sorrow
I carried with me as I walked the red walk

XXIII