wolf

she whimsically skid across the dining room in her night gown, dancing and singing an old and familiar tune. she scoffs at the mundane and overrated leisures that excite, even herself. she surrenders to each sensational taste of a good night's meal. her pitch is perfect, her delivery fierce, but it's the follow-up she lacks.

sometimes, she would agree, that days are colder than nights, and when she is alone, she hears the angels whispering. a long and heavy drone from which she is afraid to take a sip. her fur is thickest when she succumbs to the vanity that runs her body. her fur is thicker than the fog, and the fog can do nothing but hide the howls and allow them to echo through the night. her children find her, nostrils flared and ears erect, ready to penetrate through the toughest skin.

sometimes she wakes up ashamed. not a single trace of fur left on her follicles, but a sweet and bitter taste still lingers on her lips. blood red, it runs dry and stains her teeth with nothing more than a broken promise and a perpetual lie.

but tonight is different, as she whimsically skids across the dining room in her night gown. just another night and sleep is dawning. her hair is perfect, as if camera ready and geared with bobby pins and blowing fans, but the temptation grows louder than the angels' whispers. what is a sin if sin not be taken? like eve and the serpent, like adam and deceit, she feels her fur thickening. but tonight is different, as her innocent grace soothes the warm night, and her repertoire of broken dreams builds miracles in the sky, she keeps the wolves at bay. she suppresses the howls that are aching to be released, and she thins the forming furs from her follicles. sometimes her mind is lost in wanderlust, in forests too dark to make out, in dreams from across the sea, in romance only found in novels, but she knows how to land the follow up because tonight is different.

a mirror so easily reveals the person we want to see, but it hides the wolf within. bottle in hand, glass in another, and it's easy to hide inside a mirror. the morning can be easy with the application of lip color, the stretching of tights, and the zipping of skirts. all just a reflection of who we want to be. she knows she can come home and see through it all. the translucent dreams become reality and she's tossed the glass, poured the bottle, and taken off her lipstick. she's unzipped and unworn, and all she has left is the night gown in which she can whimsically skid across the dining room in. it starts with one step, and the whispers will guide her home.

t.tran