Beware
those who speak of wolves, their mouth
is a
jagged wound, waiting for blood. Their eyes
are not
reflections of the moon but are the
bloated
bellies of the forgotten dead. You may
hear
their cries and feel their claws crawling
on your
skin but do not invite them in. Call to them
from your
window, hidden behind lamp-lit curtains.
It's
alright we are all beaten under the same
meaningless
stars. Open the door, walk out
.
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