One Very Big, Bad Wolf

I'm not prejudice towards all wolves, maybe, 

but there's this one… 

I have my house made of three things: Straw, wood and brick. 

Yes, those three in one.

Some days I notice more one than another

‘tis some days the very faintest of winds could blow the whole thing to dust, 

and although the sticks are sturdier than the straw, the wolf easily makes sparks and oft threatens to burn. 

He loves chaos and destruction. 

On my strongest days I feel secure, sheltered in my brick abode. 

But he erodes the mortar in the very smallest of pin holes until the light can shine through. 

The small crack or the air can travel inside. 

And no matter the day, he always comes unannounced 

and grips my heart in his

 ugly hands.

Known his name, but unknown his face. 

Known the effects of his aim.

 Anxiety is the wolf's name, and I know no other enemy as crafty as he.