Wolf.

29/11/10
A smoldering cauldron,
a piece of my hair, his hair,
A few foreign words and a cackle,
Smoke rises and so does a creature,
My past has been given form,

And now as I try to sleep
I am haunted by a snarling sound
and the scent of wet wolf,
And now I fail to sleep,

for when I close these eyes
my eyelids play scenes
that should never been seen,

and when I open them too
I still see scenes
that should never be seen,

I lie on my back
my shoulder pinned down
by huge paws
I feel the saliva drop
onto my face
but I cannot wipe it off,

Nausea is an understatement,
my stomach tries to crawl
right out of my body up my throat
and past my teeth

and this is all too similar
despite the metaphors,
and this is all déjà vu
in a dream kind of way,

my favourite re-enactments
are the ones where I kill you,
my current re-enactment
involves my older self
trying to comfort the younger,

but both are so mad,
and going mad with madness,
and when innocence has left a child so young
to be replaced with murderous intent
you know the world’s gone wrong,

And as I try simply to live,
I am haunted by a snarl
and the scent of wet wolf,
and the paw are not just resting
but are digging deep now,

He wishes to bury his sins in my chest,
Well, too late, you did that,
That’s where we’re at,
He wishes to himself forget,
Well, too late, you did that,
That’s why you’re not here,

And I lie only under the ghost of a wolf
who I could swear was so real just five minutes ago,
But the truth is my madness is driving me mad,

And as I try to sleep
I hear such a menacing snarl,
And I avoid looking in mirrors
So I don’t have to see him up there
balancing upon my shoulders,
always.