I'm sick to death

of gulping unspoken words and
sulking tears of frustration
bitter and burning all the way down

of drowning my anger under
the stagnant swamp of "nice",
choking alone in murky depths.

of pulling out my fangs
and curling my tail
and suffocating my soul

of gently nudging all the sheep
who wander, lost and stupid
back towards the green field.

Are all my smiles deceptions?

I want so badly to be good.

But despite it all I am a wolf,
a wild and howling thing
who trembles with pleasure at the taste of blood.

What sheep could understand this loneliness?

What wolf could forgive this betrayal?