I was raised on the ways of the Wolf. I applied these ways to the best of my ability. Only to be set loose to live amongst the sheep. Where my ways were considered savage and unreasonable.
I turned to the Poppy and the *****. I was insearch of a temporary sanctuary from the past misdeeds replaying themselves inside my head.
Only at a later age did I come to understand these wounds that still bleed leave trails full of wasted years, lost lovers and forgotten hopes and dreams.
I counted the Black and Whites as they passed me by. I tried to melt into the crowd. The vigilance and anger in my heart refused to walk amongst the live stock. For I was raised as one with brother Wolf. I needed to run on the outside of their invisible bindings.
I died everyday for 3 years . I pulled from the ***** then turned to the poem and discovered a new way to torture my mind while healing the heart.
I dropped the mask I had wore for so many of these theatrical years.
I set about revealing hearts blood and fractured bone. I ripped the inside of me out and presented it as treasure. Only to find the masses are indeed too much like sheep. Never understanding the manners of the wolf....