Sing.
“Shine on me, baby, cause it’s rainin’ in my soul.” –Elliott Smith
The pack lives in my soul. Somewhere down low, beside the base of my spine which grows like an old pine tree in their eternal night. That’s where they keep. They wake, sometimes, and start to howl. My soul howls with them. We cannot stop, the howl, it lives its own life, and it swells. I have learned, over time to recognize the scuffles of their waking, and to hush them, lull them back into dozing. But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I let them wake up. I let them howl. And their howling wakes me, and drives me to madness.
Why do I let them wake when I know what madness they bring?
