There’s something inside me, it’s a disease,
but not the type that makes you sneeze.
He settled in without a sound,
now he haunts me like a bloodthirsty hound.

He barks and growls,
whines and howls.

Yet you don’t see
that he bites with glee.

Alone, I fight this wolf everyday,
’cause nobody else knows of this stray.

In spring he hides,
in summer he bites,
in autumn he’s nice,
and in winter he rolls the dice.

So how is it that while I fight this war,
you are here no more?
Play my wounds of as a scratch,
nothing that can’t be fixed with a simple patch.
You pet the dog, saying it would never hurt me,
but deep down, you know your words have already
killed me.