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alupa Apr 19
The wolves inside of me are starting to get hungry
They are licking my liver in an almost affectionate way
But I suppose they just want to taste the salty blood
They are going to **** me and die with me
And I can't blame them
I too have burnt down my paper house just to feel warm
And now that it's not only cold but I'm also out in the dark without shelter
I don't mind the wolves winning anymore
JKirin Feb 27
We chase wild dreams at the tip of our pens,
every word every stroke brings us closer.
But at times, our draft—it just doesn’t make sense…
We can’t help but believe us a poser.
Still, the dream, the pen, calls out to our hearts—
and we try, put it back to the paper.
Every word, every stroke is a wonder!
As our instincts kick in – full of hunger,
we’re hunters that chase, hunt down our prey!
We won’t let our doubts win, lead us astray—
we will howl for our pack, our dearest friends.
Dreams are waiting at the tip of our pens.
about writing, about doubts
JKirin Dec 2021
Have you seen the wolves in the sky?
There are pups at play, hear their howls?
Clashes of claws? Thunderous growls?
Through the clouds they run side by side.
They are the storm you hear outside.
about thunderstorms
CarolineSD Nov 2021
Them **** beasts
Hunt our cattle
Picking out the weak.
Go get your rifle, son.
Go fetch your boots.
Those *******
Look best skinned
And ******
Across the bed
Of this old truck.

I nod along with them.
I plod along with them to get the guns;
Isn't this necessary,
After all?

But inside my soul
I feel a dark night spreading
No, not sinister
But sweet.
The stars above like scattered drifts
Of snow spilled in the wind and crunching under
Loping feet.

And I am standing on a narrow ridge
And listening.
Hidden like some ephemeral thing,
Like sweetgrass burning in the wind;

And I can feel them rising.
I can hear them crying,
A ghostly sobbing.
Falling on my knees
I call them.

To the draw they run!
Like so many mothers clutch their young
And all the warriors toss their guns
And still the cavalry descends,

Across the creek and trailing blood, she runs.
Singing her howling song, she runs.
Howling her death song, she runs.  

And in one last act of desperation falls.

I see them drag her carcass up the draw.

And in the truck, they’re laughing,
Humming, slapping knees, and spitting,
Like some celebratory release.  

In my head, a single phrase:
Them **** beasts.
Bringing this one back How we slaughter beautiful things for our own security.
JA Perkins Oct 2021
The same people
who told me
I'm only alive
when I'm winning
are the ones who
look for cracks
in my character.

And so I favor the meek -
Not the schemes of
their cold competition.

And the same
people who told
me I couldn't
survive in the
free world are
the ones in whom
my ******* would
prove most

And so I learn wisdom and
suffering in separation
Be careful
neth jones Jul 2021
the sleeper...

riled in slumber
         her face fevered
     cussed about the terrain
                                     of a floral breeding
  bedding patterns and the print
                                        bunched in struggles
in smudges
                     an amateur trial with sisters makeup
     primal cosmetics
            make a mock
                                ceremony for slumber

dusty and museum are her dollworks
        an amphitheatre audience
                                 overlooming her berth
    flaunting the gallery shelves
                sustained expressionist menace
Roman eyes and Victorian ridicule
stuffed suffering with Ugly Duckling down
****** sawdust and your sullied label
they bray and they brawl
         and they sluice their gull gall
    a sick drizzle
       over the sleepers form

   from the exterior
  wild wails the weather
its being
  peers fragile
at the windowpane
a raid on this vulnerable sleeper
impounded in bedroom aloft
raised to meet the jet stream

she is fumbled in dreams...

  abraded adolescent swells
judder out figments
  a bleed of vandals
     siling her muted childhood
       parading the playground
          berating old
         once loved playthings
       adopting no sympathy
    adapting in favour
      of the wild riding will
        of the direful pre familiar

into the woods...

a ***** charmed breath
       dressed smartly as boy
stoppers her pathway
       insisting a gentleman's assistance
frustrates her recitations
      of grandmothers doting
           stern teachings
         like fragile pottery
            come to harm
         broken into teeth
the quick blood beating
       this nocturnal forest
     busy in heat
      bonding death
       to refract the hustling moon

a company of wolves
    fill out the clearing
not a spell too soon
their howls reverberate
mocking their new glut
sifting followers
      from the raggle-taggle array of fools
the foolish dreamers
          rounded up
amongst them she stands
red dressed and nervous
one hand clasping
                  and sexing the other

a great jaw operates here
an excited irresponsible mastication
committed to this fairytale

...agitation in her sleep
Inspired by the movie version of The Company Of Wolves

Sile = Strain OR filter
Orakhal Dec 2020
Ceremony of might
fight that to not be fought
reign down a lust
on all of kind and bruise a nothing nought

shallow steep firth to a keep
forever at the clay
behold a cure to all and more
forgot not to its way

let **** be **** and kindle
as to death do only weep
her fury slay the risen tide
a grey inside the sleep
Shaquille Gaines Nov 2020
There are stories of old,
Told among us.
Tales of God-like beings,
Whom we must distrust.

They conquered the forest,
And tamed the seas.
They rule the world,
Or so they believe.

They took our land,
And claimed our kills.
But that's not the worst
Of their skills.

It's their barks and howls.
Their snarls, not glares.
They gave us "labels,"
But they did not care.

They call us "wolves"
They wanted peace
We played along,
But their betrayal ran deep.

They launched steel rocks,
And used detached claws.
I lead them away,
But landed in death's maw.

Now my body lays dying,
But my pack has survived.
The stars weep with misery,
As I close my eyes.
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