How the Wolf Became Alone

Banging on the window, she howls at the moon,
trembling behind closet doors, her
snifles and teardrops fill up the room,
sandpaper fur rubs against the floor, and
as if a ghost clawed at my neck,
silence echoes down my spine,
now the whole world knows my home is a wreck,
I’m a wolf without a pack to hide, and
crouched in the forest, covered in shit, paralyzed
from sunken yellow-eyes, and the blood red
crescent carved in my chest,
binds me to my lies.

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