I know why the most wounded
Feel safest with animals
An animal never hides its nature
It just is
Allowing the world to adjust around it
However it will.
People aren’t like that
They hide their nature
to adjust those around them
To mire their free will
People are hardly animals at all,
Anymore.
Which is more dangerous.

once trapped in between metal and wood, the mouse forfeits its life to the higher power
for its own foolishness and yearning for livelihood led it to the clamping jaws of death
the mischief goes without mourning, for deadweight is doomed to the side of the road regardless.
the tiny mouth of a mouse can only squeak so loudly, but the sound is drowned out by the snapping of its fragile bones like a branch of a tree falling
this is an infinite purgatory
rodents aren't reborn, and will always be invaluable to all species but themselves.
everything dies, but the hungry are murdered.

i rest in the corner of a cubic room, stuck in my fate.
i wish not for the best of life, or for a new one afterword
i know my valueless existence will be replaced down the line.
the days flash by and what is left of me is rot, clinging to the bones that make me the weak and deformed being i am.
people would save me if i wasn't a bottom feeder.
a perfect puppy, full of life and joy.
maybe just a bird, wing snagged by a predator whilst trying to ****** food.
i'm not ugly, am i?
am i not worth companionship?
i'm not even worth the food i find for my family.
the world was mine once.
to be free to wander again, without having to worry about being fooled or trapped.
i should be too young to die, but i'm too clever to live.

I’m left bare by a grizzly burden of a bear upon my thoughts – heavy,
and hibernating; as the love of my life dashes across the winding road
of my mind – my eyes are headlights illuminating to my dear. My
love for her still endures, even when she poses her ***** questions,
“Would you still love me if I were a worm crawling through the
dirt?” Of course, my heart answers yes, for I often ponder how she so
effortlessly wiggled her way into my life.

“Does this outfit make me look fat?” she asks, and I reply with a
cheerful “no,” yet the the elephant in the room, is always remembering that fateful night when I jokingly answered yes, and I became
irrelevant over her bedside.

Yet, I am the dog, when I **** her off – but it’s okay, for I know I’ll
simply mark my territory in that doghouse. Still, like a devoted pup,
my tail wags with joy at the sound of her voice. And if my attempts to
win her back after a quarrel make her sweet on me again – then I
suppose I’m a bee, and you, my darling, I call Honey.

The reality is, we’ve always recognized the humour in my antics –
and our love is animal, untamed and primal, yet beautifully
restrained by the fervour of our unwavering devotion to one another.

Humans,

who are we?

What are we?

Habitats for microscopic life-forms?

Fertilizer for spring blooms?

Animals, incessantly foraging for sustenance?

Polluters of the Earth and its atmosphere?

Killing machines with insatiable appetite for war?

Yes…Yes, we are all that and more.

We are poets and dreamers,

truth seekers and love makers,

scientists and prophets,

heroes and villains.  

We are the ****** and the blessed  

inhabitants of a lonely planet.

Green on green, the grub

eats its way to the calyx --


to change colour there.

A reality so sharp that it hurts. Let me be like an olm so accustomed to everything leaving, falling apart, mending itself, and tearing itself apart again that I no longer need eyes to see that which I know will inevitably happen over and over.

Submerged in cold cave water; wading hands--slow moving and no longer paddling about like a drowning man. In the darkness of environment and of loss of a kind of overwhelming sight this is all that matters. A blunted reality diluted down to what is ultimately real.