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