The forest floor was bare
and it was easy enough getting there.
She found the mushroom and devoured it.
She was ravenous for it.
Though she knew it was death to her,
she swallowed it whole;
she could not get enough.
The ground was soft as flower petals
and the way she had come to it was safe enough.
She was not followed.
The going was easy, to the place where she fed,
it would be the escape that was treacherous:
slowed, drowsed by the poisonous fluid
that now filled the pit of her stomach, she left.
She did not know if she could free herself.
She did not know if she would feel
the sun on her face,
or the comfort of an open field again.
Would this hunger she had inside
finally be her demise?
Would she ever be immune to the
draw of this deadly drug?