Little Dead Riding Hood​

little red was indeed dead, if you were to run into the abandoned forest at night, you might get a frightful sight.
Not even a wolf dare venture hear, for even they know the danger that is near.
For our dear little red was a lady of the wicked, the frightful and to her delight, humans were easily seduced by the night.
A victim would awake in the worst possible way, by the hart of the others that lay on the dead grass of her bloody wood, at your feet be red riding hood.
Her hair in tatters, her hood still in place. Her eyes as red as your blood, she is dying to taste. Looking down you will see a tattered corset barely hanging to her ribs, oh yes, you can see them too, surely they are not poking through?
Her feet were bare, as bare as one leg, it seems to have shed the flesh, how is she standing?
Your next breath is your last, as you look up you see, red swinging down as hard as can be, a giant mallet straight for your head. She smashes it open like a giant melon, picks at you frontal cortex and fries it like gammon.
For at your feet be little dead riding hood.

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~ Jess Bagnall