By J Ann Crowder
A wolf follows me, his musky, onyx mane blends into distant shadows
He’s always there, with a simpering snarl on his face, inching closer, fangs dripping—he’s patiently waiting
I envision his bite venomous, like a snake’s poison
He is my fear trapped within, my doubt and inhibitions threatening to swallow me—or perhaps something more?
His venom is the poison of thoughts in me, wanting to invade—visions yearning to destroy the mind in me
Perhaps the black wolf is the crazy in me?
Maybe one day, he’ll catch up to me?
For now, I’ll keep walking
There are some days I feel as if I barely escape the wolf. I just keep walking. Written August 18th, 2016.