Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continue to fight.
One holds never-ending dominance
Relentlessly mocking and scolding.
The slanderous one, better known as the chief
The master, better known as my back bone.

The other wolf; the sufferer,
Facing the horror of the fire.
Like luscious, vibrant air filled with beauty and self-worth
With the intensity and beauty of a glowing golden sun,
Glittering as it beams among the surface of the waters.
The lustrous one, better known as my daydreams
The lovely one, better known as my pure naked self.

Like two scorpions in a bottle,
There was a fight between evil and good.
The winner; the one the operator chooses to feed,
The winner; a display of my blindness.
Blindness, lacking the sense of sight; sightless.
Blind to the naked beauty and worth of the lovely wolf,
The starving wolf.

Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continued to fight inside of me.
The delightful became liquified into dark raw evil,
Leaving me drowning, gasping
Gasping the slightest bit of that air of self-worth.

(C) Emily Mckusker 2016