Wolves sniff out their prey, and I here I lay.
Weak and vulnerable
Cuts from the past leaving the scent,
Leading them this way.
A bullseye on my back marking me as an easy target,
Practically begging to be hit.
And I fall for the same traps time after time,
Even though every day I pray to be given something other than a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Maybe deep down I enjoy the pain,
Punishing myself for something I didn’t do.
Or finding assurance in being put in place.
Every new attack leaves me more and more unstable on my feet
Until one day I can no longer stand,
I’m nothing more than a meal, prey, and weak.
A lamb on It’s own.