the clock is ticking and talking
to me with its hands around my neck
until my throat is bruised, black and blue
reminding me of past events, of past lives
(I have died three times)
there's a boy, another boy, and another boy
no
there's a wolf, another wolf, and another wolf
they all must have the same taste in meat
(young and vulnerable, marinated in alcohol)
they aren't from the same pack, but they feel the same
when they hold you down and devour you
leaving nothing left but a pile of bones
(and a lifetime of paranoia, trust issues, bitterness, panic attacks, depression, rage, therapy bills, suicide attempts, hospital visits, scars, addictions, alcoholism, low self-esteem, family estrangement, failures, eating disorders, and the ever-present feeling that I am being watched)
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