It’s a constant knot in my gut

And lump in my throat
,
I’m always stuck between the feeling

Of either bursting into tears or throwing up
.
And my chest feels like it’s either caving in 

Or being torn apart

And I worry about the permanent damage

Left behind by the war between my head

And my heart.

I keep my hands balled into fists to keep anyone from seeing

My dull jagged nails and torn cuticles that never stop bleeding

Due to the hours I spend tearing at my skin.

Maybe I’ll rip enough away to let some of the sickness spill out

And the sunlight spill in.

The doctors called me a wolf biter, due the way that I chew and I tear 

At the flesh that surrounds each of my fingernails.
The same way a wolf gnaws on the flesh of its prey

Using its nails and its teeth to shred the outer shell away.

I back myself into a corner and paralyze me with fear

Then turn around and destroy the body keeping me here.
Maybe soon I'll peel back all my skin

And make myself disappear.
A wolf biter, because I allow myself to simultaneously become

Both the hunted, running scared, and the hunter out for blood.