wolves howl
the crunch of
paws on the
icy snow
outside the
windows
as the sky
transitions
to endless white
a lone
mockingbird
calls out
a three note
refrain
that folds
in on itself
into a wall
of angry static
as the pack
circles
i am a
pitted gargoyle
perched on
the edge of
a sage couch
enveloped in
months of
silent disdain
as the fog
billows
to obscure
the snapping
maws seeking
fresh prey
the mockingbird
and i sit
idiotically
looping our own
three note refrains
an unintelligible
repetition
leading the
wolves ever closer
to a glorious
feast of foolishness
nothing remains
but half buried
corpses in
the retreating ice
death by exposure
without a sign
of frostbite
in pristine
dedication to
the vacancy of
hazy reciprocations
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
This is scary. I love that you were able to invoke that feature into the piece. I’d love to hear your inspiration behind it
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i have been quite manic for the last couple weeks, but i can feel the depression growing, hungry like a wolf in the snow. i have been told i speak in metaphors and it is quite infuriating. i don’t know how else to translate the overdose of everything without them.
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You are a natural artist :). What are you doing to combat the depression?
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writing. poetry is for mania, fiction comes out in depression. keeps me constantly going.
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I’m happy that you have something healthy then. Stick to it!
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Superbly evoked
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thank you, my friend. the ice should be gone by weekend’s end. back to the normal existential agony soon.
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ah yes…
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