2 am poetry

¨༺ romulus, the lamb ༻¨

My mother is a wolf
And I am her child,
Wool on my skin, hoof
On my legs, trembling wild.

She feeds me thoroughly
Until I'm strong enough to run,
As I would need it when I'm lonely
Or when she rages at me like a gun.

For years and years I withstood
Her fangs that bit my flesh
Accidentally while she would
- for me - kill anything harmful in a flash.

It is her nature to see the prey
Behind my doe-like eyes,
As I cannot deny the fear of decay
For me this she-wolf provides.

Or maybe my sheep-mind distorts
The world to make me a martyr,
And in my soul the darkness haunts
And beckons me to make life harder.

Perhaps, I am a wolf cub,
Milking my mother dry with wrath,
Wolf in sheep's clothing who will rub
Herself to her mother's fleece to
Make her scathe.

I cause her pain with my sharp teeth,
Her softness cannot warm my ice-cold Heart,
Oh, I will defile her love which she Bequeaths
So dearly to her monster-child art.

Me and her, we both have our own ways
To tear each other apart as time goes,
Like our different species from the first days,
Our blood defines this as it flows.

Whatever we are, my closest kin and I,
Who grew in her womb with a strong tie,
Will always love one another 'til we die,
No matter how much we clash and why.