I am both enticed
and
terrified of the scent
of the hunter.
It lingers in the
vast oblivion I lost
myself in when you
began your chase.
I cannot walk
a mere seven feet
without your scent
gracing me.
It catches in the back of my throat,
sweetly tickling my senses
(I long for
the days where you were
not the predator and I
was not your prey)
But my heart starts to race
as your scent turns foul
and bile forces up
my raw throat.
My body quakes
as my hunter draws near,
circling me, that malevolent grin
stuck on his twisted face.
(I know what will come next)

My skin hangs on his wall,
my expressionless eyes staring
ahead.
His ultimate trophy:
The only one
who got away
in the first place.