(Grey) 4-Wolves

I’ve got you dead in the center of my fiendish iris

With each lift of a leg I thread through winter silence

How familiar is the smell of human flesh

I’ll bite the hand that feeds me for its ignorance

I am the beast trained from your violence

Intimidating shadows darken your innocence

Around your paltry fire they dance

The fierce source of fears in this offensive stance

Alaskan winds carry your scent

I follow, your fire’s smoke under my breath

For you have a life of unchecked debts

Stand in the dead center

Of what sustains your existence

Tear it away with foaming teeth 

To the last bit of resistance

The bones underneath

Stalked at a distance

So be spoon fed your own torture, open your mouth wide

Know to hate what you were and become wise

Ask for this veil of scars

To be lifted like prison bars

Mountains of teeth thrashing 

In hope of happiness everlasting