Slaughter

They-

wanted me to fail-

expected me to-

secretly 

suffer.

They

believed him

who spoke in tongues

dripping with alcohol-

venom-

or temptation.

They

assumed some-

thing some-

one else 

knowing naked and shorn

They

could never make it through

the frozen nights

of solitude.

They

estimated-

were mistaken and

some, like me, would say

unlucky

betting on the black sheep

betting on the lamb

who is the wolf

you feed-

and the bitten hand

that continues to write through the pain.

Painting by William Sidney Cooper, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.