the wolf actually exists.
it's hidden in plain sight.
a constant presence looming in the trees,
occasionally making itself visible.
if I accuse it of trying to ****** me,
the crowd will humor me for a few seconds.

a body covered in claw marks.
a body covered in open wounds.
a body that needs something
other than time in order to heal.
a body that begs for a tourniquet
made from twiny rope.

I cry wolf and the wolf cries liar.
the wolf cries wolf and I cry listen.
the crowd shakes their heads and walks away,
whispering to each other about how
I should just be thankful
that it hasn't killed me yet.