I am sleeping with wolves;
they love me and my heartbeat,
how it runs and leaps
and trips, faltering
with fear. They love
to bark and bite
at my ankles, imagining
how I could run
from them.
I will understand this later, which is slightly annoying because I want to understand it now but my subconcious doesn't cooperate with me.
Anyways, I really need to go to sleep.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
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