The Wolf

A perpetual wolf at both doors at all times,
not wanting but needing outside of closed blinds,
shut off but not safe, harboring thoughts from your own mind,
heart rate racing in time with the red neon signs, flashing.
Love and hate now come conveniently in passing, short breaths, teeth gnashing, barking the slogan, silently withholding and knowing all and nothing at once, consume and devour the blackest hole, no more than a broken light, at each end of the tunnel the start of another begins, recedes, and turns back into itself. A self-inflicted wound of the mind, healed and torn ceaselessly, repeatedly, rhythmically with body and soul.