Across this quiet town there is a wolf
coat as black at the night
He hears her wolfs call of utter fright
He too longs to know love
Longing to just be someones beloved
He defeatedly shakes his muzzle
Covered in his scars of depression
His eyes tell or his silent opression
He sets off on a race
Coat belnding into the night with the taste of haste
Air flowing across him from the sky
He is on a natural high
My wolf the moon
and his the night
Both on a hunt for the other, detined never to colide my cruel fate
But each thinking it is never too late
Our wolves run inside us all,
Trapped in these humman souls, just failing for the fatal fall
YOU ARE READING
My Little Book of Lovesick Poetry
PoetryOverly ambitious collection of lovesick garbage The typical cliche of a teenager What is there to expect?
