« Writing and Poetry Forum

Love, werewolf

You can clean all of my wounds and sew up all of my cuts, but a wolf is not a dog, no matter how hard you love it; and we both know I am not made for that.

What will you do, honey, when I disappear from the bed at night? Will you search for me through the forest, will you hold a lantern up to your face and shout out my name, like a child who got lost before it could reach its mother's arms? Or would you wait for me with a warm cup of tea; and when I come back home with nothing but guts to give, would you wash off the blood from my hands, would you eat the flesh that remains between my teeth?

You'd know every time we kiss I'd bite your tongue until it bleeds, every time you hold me as your own I will leave scratch marks on your back, just to show that I care. Would you still love me if I ran free and away, if all I had to give was a wild type of devotion, and an exposed heart you could not touch? If I bite your hand when you're trying to feed me, will you be patient enough to try again? If I haunt the ones that keep trying to get closer, would you still let me be unleashed?

What do you have in those big, round eyes? What do they see in mine? I wonder, who am I to your vague human imagination; a heartless killer? An intense lover? The one who will run away without any doubts? The fool who always comes back?

I'd love you right if I could. I'd let you bathe me in the late afternoon, I'd lay down in your arms to warm you up when you get cold, I'd clean the house before you get home, I'd let you take care of me like no one ever would. But, sweetness, nothing is all that I have to give; I don't want to break your heart, but what can a broken heart do? At the end of the day, my orange blood will run down your hands, you will realize that sometimes, even too much might not be enough.

Report Topic

0 Replies