Dead Wolves Running

The impatient clock reads four.
My thoughts run in packs like wolves.
I’m up staring at screens
as the creeping morning looms.

Haunting thoughts like dead wolves running
have eaten all the numbered sheep.
The looming morning creeps;
sunlight sneaks in through the window.

All the numbered sheep are dead
to feed insatiable monsters.
The vampiric sunlight bares its fangs
as all thoughts go to heaven.

Insatiable monsters feed;
screens now stare back into me.
All my thoughts can go to hell.
The clock now scolds it’s seven.

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