The Big Bad Wolf

Luckily, my favourite colour is red.

There have been many runaways. Many fearful. Many underestimated.

I knew of the stories. The tales told. Some approached cautiously with an offering of flesh, others approached confidently with a chain leash. While a few approached naively, expecting a curious puppy.

Though I stumbled upon you. Fated? Destined? It’s irrelevant now. As both are keeping a safe distance. You know, I know. Lost, perhaps?

I can see the dry blood. Hear those warning growls and temperamental snarls. Informing me I am overstepping. Peering into those eyes of unpredictability. Aware of the startled breathing. This is not a game of taming. There is no room for error or weakness here. The quiet, is foreign.

One would be foolish to pretend that you won’t bite, that you aren’t capable of mauling, or even willing to kill.

Found more peace in isolation, stones that will callous you from beneath. trees that absorb the light from above. Making it easier to camouflage in the corners. Heightened sense, upon a full moon. How close can you get to disarming? Observant and alert.

Never really liked civilisation anyway. Though I think that feeling is mutual. Witness to the disappointing cycle of humanity. It’s riddled with judgement, pity, fear, blind hope and relentless combativeness. Too many sheep. Constantly masking and behaving.

Chaos and instinct. Wired that way. Familiar territory. I must surrender, I would accept.

I won’t hesitate if you let me,

I will not mould for obedience,

I won’t yell commands or lift my hand to you,

I will not wince or flinch,

I won’t not run,

I will not hide,

I won’t cry and seek shelter,

I could never be afraid.

On guard and swallowed by a consuming darkness, surrounding and gnawing at the walls within. Devouring.

I’m not afraid of you, and I am not here to change you.

Even if you show me those vicious, sharp teeth you have.

Or what long, stained claws you have there.

What wrathful eyes you glare with, the agony behind them.

Oh my, look at all of those decaying bones and reminiscences that you lay beside each nightfall.

Using them all, as both warning signs and a sheild.

Even then,

I’ll take a step forward, laying low, breathe in my scent.

Can hear how fast your heart is beating.

I will proceed to wrap my arms around you, kiss your forhead softly and smile.

Is this risking or recognising?

Your growls speak in metaphors. My lack of voice says plenty. Words are not needed where there is silent understanding.

I’m more then capable of dressing a wound for it to heal, and I know how to aid myself if I’m left crawling.

Maybe this is unspoken understanding.

hello, my beloved cold friend.

I will stay,

will you lay next to me?