A howl tastes like a rough inhale of a cigarette in the midst of the winter fog.  

So why howl?

The center of boredom is a mind numbing space. Consisting of an all white jail cell with no singular way to break free.

Why don’t you just go do something?

The anger built up between the two gives the putrid scent of burning poultry building up a black crust in the oven.

Why don’t they just get along?

The sense of freedom peeking around the corner smells like I am lost in a garden peacefully waiting for a butterfly to accompany me.

Soon

I won’t have to howl

Soon 

I won’t need to cure my boredom

Soon

I won’t be able to smell their anger

Soon I will be free.