Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Truly Dire Poem

The Wolf
Is at the door,
A man said.

It’s so cold out,
And snowing.
It’s always snowing somewhere.
And fur only does so much.

The Wolf
Is at the window,
Breathing hard, and
Fogging up your view.
Fucking your shit right up.

Lies.

The Wolf
Is in the house.
In your bed.
At your table and using your favorite fork.

Shithead,
You’re the Wolf.
The call is coming from inside the house.
You’re the one with the teeth.

No one outside but the chickens
And the poets
And something you meant to do,
And someone you meant to be.

You’re the Wolf.
Did you not know that?

6 Comments

  1. you are killing me.

  2. “The call is coming from inside the house.”

    Bonus points.. +100

  3. Holy…shit

    And I’m not a poetry fan. I find most of it to be narcissistic bull hockey. This is applicable shit, tho, and I find that I like hearing it in my head. Good job.

  4. Luther Von Baconson

    August 10, 2016 at 4:39 am

    yes!

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