starving as he was, the snow could not hinder the undying rage beneath his fur, his skin— it was boiling, as if to erupt, to evolve into something entirely different.
wailing, he kept walking despite the weight of it all, shredding every piece of humanity ever afforded to him. it was then that he realized animals were never concerned with rights or wrongs— only what was in their hearts, or their craving.
he kept his fangs showing, his claws sharp enough to maim, to turn his next friend into a victim— just so he can go back, rest, and live another god-awful day.
He barks in the distance Howling at the moon from jagged cliffs Anxiously waiting for her response, Dolefully widened eyes grasp for her With a warmth withstanding gelid air
Her symphonious ocean drowns his cries She illuminates her inconsolable sea Her waves absorbing his mournful song She reaches for him from high heavens How terribly she yearns to be with him, just once more
if I were asked , are you okay I would know not what to say The way my feelings work the way they ebb and flow turns my headspace into an auditorium full of noise full of sorrow full of love with hopes for a better tomorrow I guess I'll say I'm okay because I've got to chase this wolf away It breathes down my neck It haunts every step it salivates at the thought of sinking it's fangs in again and again and again I'm hoping the meds take effect like a huntsman please release me from this beast Until that time comes I won't stop believing that I can be free
Cries of a wolf—howling in the burns of a shadowy night. Preying eyes, seeking, pouncing to hunt you out my dear. Chasing love, or rather being chased by love behind a trail of youthful winds. At the time we still could count the scars on our knees.
Seems we've barely got skins holding solid on our bones. Time is a she-wolf feasting on once was youth. Her sharp tooth digs into my eyes—gnawing my ability of sight.
I'm haunted by the long nights; seeming longer if you're unsure you'd wake in the morning. Death is a mistress of non screaming echoes, but a peaceful whisper of her calling. She knocks at the door of my cold feet; a deathbed unlike no other rest to your eyes. (It's subtle goodbye)
But a longest night, makes expectancy of the day brighter than it's tomorrow. But a few extra hours is never what we'll borrow—still the hours of wisdom we left behind is hoped to follow. To let new things grow in the rises of one's written experience, as the story of a Morn' flower.
wolf , can you land meat ? or are busy being needlessly cruel to 'lesser' peers ? could you even take a basic stalk about the woods ? or would you be blistered breaking in those brand new pricy walking boots ? a full moon ? maybe you'd drink to excess on those nights ? maybe pick a fight or beat on your loved ones but whimper the next day ?
that smart suit ? ridiculous over your fur heard you're on a trendy fad diet you fidget at your desk you fidget on your screen work is obscenely wasteful distractions are just plain obscene you are a coward to your soul soiled by domestic inactivity