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.
