wolves

wine spilled in the color of roses

a ring left on the table where the bottle once stood.

next to the last remnants

of yesterday's tv dinner.

he does not know that yesterday has

come and gone

because he is still engaged

in dreams

of wolves

chasing him down

and gnawing at his ribs.

yet it's

not a nightmare

because

without his heart he can finally embrace

the apathy that hovers at the edge of his vision.

swallowing its sweet poison like candy

as the wolves dine on what remains of his feelings,

a bubbly mess, shame and anger

and they celebrate at the taste of

repression finally boiling over

emotions that have been pent up forever.

he wakes up

with apathy straddling his forehead

and a newfound love

of wolves.