Genuine emotions...
Are a thing of the past
When going through the motions
Always running fast.
Filling in the details...
Will help you understand
Convince you of my primal need
For living off the land.
I know I am hot-blooded
And trust in my safe, dark den
A small hole in the ground
Smells like rotting wood and devoured wren.
Read here to see if my story
Is truly what fits your needs
If you fear gore and violence
Beware, I can make you bleed.
I have trouble swallowing
All of the meat...
You might be a herbivore
So you may need to skip this treat.
My cachinations scare away
The raccoons...
I can be mischievous
And track down a loon...
Is it time for a nap?
Windswept pastures...
They offer little refuge
Wooded and shady greys
Conceal my eyes huge
Trickle and tickle...
Until there is no more
Your blood has been spilled
This is what's in store
For a life of zoanthropy.
