Where there's a wolf

Where there's a lamb,

the wolves are never far.

I hide within a carcass full of

meat, so the wolves don't know

that it's me, as they begin

their feast.

I wear my human skin, under a sweater

of wool, as instructed. Thin as it may be;

nothing goes out, and nothing comes in.

I collect the bones after teeth

have finished their brutality. Build them up

like a rattling house of cards; it almost resembles

where you brought me up.

Memories tangled up in yarn, I can't

unknit them. And this pattern

quite suits me anyway, doesn't it?

Even the color is a striking

gray.

Where there's a wolf,

the lambs cannot resist

to play.