Wolfie God Biography

My fingers trace the lines in my face,
Shocked by my age they gasp.
I stutter my words to expressions,
A fool separated from his mind they say.
...

The mistress calls me to the window,
Her darkness attracts me to her.
She awaits me to call out to her,
I stare waiting keeping my lips pinched.
...

The flakes of white tickle my tongue,
Empty of taste but wonderfully cold.
I keep my eyes closed, squinting when they land on my face,
Soft and tickling on my skin.
...

I stare into the grit of the paint looking for the answers,
All I can trace there is the lies that I lived.
My dreams are adrift in this concrete jungle,
They float away on hints of smog and anger.
...

The sail flickers in the wind caressing the mast,
Sun beating down on the bleached deck filled with knots.
Their faces weather beaten and worn by the harsh sun,
Hands callused with the sores of a skin overworked.
...