We are all little boys in these woods. Many boys laugh as they cry as if it were some sick trend. They cry from break til dusk for nothing but a glimpse of approval. But for patience is temporary. Cries that were once heard from the moon are now drowned. I'd cry but for mine sounds the same as theirs so why break silence, for I have to save my energy for the wolf. Some days it waits to have existence in mine but some days its on top of me pinning me against my own self doubt. Those are the days I wonder if going limp would cause less scars or would he indulge, swallowing me whole. Yes it leaves these scars upon my skin but the others never notice and keep crying for aesthetic while I stay silent. When the wolf finally devours me, they will wonder where my cry was. The less disturbed will say my silence was the loudest cry, but for they will be too late. Or maybe not, maybe all the little boys will turn their heads, pray to never see the wolf and keep crying.