The Refugee

I loved him, but
He had wolf in him
Smelled unclean
They tried to pull it out
Picked bones and fur
At surgeons table
I watched from behind the glass
He didn’t flinch as they cut him open
He wanted the parasite to die, too

Next day, we were sitting on the grass
Kissing stitches
Scratching scabs
He said he didn’t want to be half a boy anymore
Later, I found his skin on the porch
Still warm, with fresh blood dripping
Remains of a life wasted
Serving humanity

Last night, I had the strangest dream. This is it.
Malicia Frost


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