Oh, What Lovely Fangs You Have (Fairy Tales Grow Old, and It's Never as Pretty as We Hope)

little red riding hood, well, she
isn't so little anymore. the years
caught up to her, twisted her.
she's not innocent, now, but god,
she's got a hell of a mouth.

our girl in red, she found magic.
she made a blanket that could
catch bad dreams, and when
her sleep was peaceful, it was far
too boring, so she took the blanket
and burned it to ashes. now she
wakes up in a sweat, but at least
her heart is beating fast, right?

the big bad wolf was clear in
his intentions, and she offered
herself up; she didn't scream
when he ripped open her skin
and left her with blood in his mouth.
she just smiled, dazed, and slept.

she didn't run with the wolves, or
from them, anymore. she caught
them one at a time and politely
asked them to ruin her. they did,
and she let herself get destroyed,
slowly, day by day, in a forest
where bad news was the only news.

little red met an early death.
she was a wolf in her mind, not
all that different from big bad.
and she smiled when she met
her end. it was a dark night with
the wolves, and she fit right in.
the hunters couldn't tell her
apart from any of her snarling
friends. it was bloody, and she
laughed to her very last breath.

when little red died, she got
a pretty coffin. her favorite
color, like the blood that ran
out of her veins, carved up
to look like she was someone
who would be buried lovely.