©2009
In the ink of night
My walls are wolfless
Empty, barren—
I need no pig-puppet
I am old
Too old, yet—
Plush friends
Surround me still
Nestled together
The warriors of the dark
We dream:
Duplicate image
My bed, my room, my toys
Back against wall,
I sleep
Engulfed in silence
In paint, in rock, in heat
Through the wall,
They creep
Emergence comes
The nail, the palm, the wrist
Around my neck,
They grip
Twisting in terror
My air, my lungs, my life
Into my soul,
They rip
I scream without sound.
To arms!
To arms, my friends!
They are quiet
Too quiet—
Ragged breath
The only sound
In the dark,
The walls are wolfless still
Among the corpses,
Death, dream—
Interweave at will
Ω