Scarlet and brown

the wolves in my head,they howl when
my insides weep crimson for the dead
and I'm left standing in the middle of the night
among wet sheets that resemble
the wet ashes of my nightmares

pounding,churning,hurting-
my mind punishes my flesh in lunar fits
of crackling bones and tears that refuse
to be born as such-instead,they turn into
howls of my own,muffled and broken
by the stale softness of a pillow

night fades,day grows,I have to be human
once more-time stands still for no one,
not even for somebody who needs it the most

the earth swallows everything in an organic vision
of unwanted Revelation and I count down the hours
as you would the beads of an unholy rosary

my hands tremble,my eyes wonder,my mouth bends-
and I can still hear a howl