I am here
In the belly of the beast
Pressed tight in all its guts
Squeezed by its intestines
With all the other tasty human morsels
Our limbs entangled, squirming
In the same process
And the acid that burns
But I am not afraid of you, beast.
I am not afraid.
I wake up with a start
And here I am in the forest of my life.
I have chosen to dig deep.
To ask why. Why to all of it.
And the answers come.
Sometimes they taste of cool water to a parched throat.
And sometimes they taste of vomit.
But now, I realize with a shudder,
I am bored.
I bend down to touch a flower on my path.
But for all its beauty,
It is hollow.
The flowers and the humans and all that I can see with my eyes
I am hollow.
Listen as I echo.
Yet there is a Me somewhere
Making this hollow illusion.
There is a Me that is not hollow.
I snarl and bare my fangs.
I smell blood.
The scent of the un-hollow.
I stalk my prey.
So patient, so vigilent.
I have cornered It now,
A lake lies behind It, and me in front.
And yet, in my final triumphant pounce,
I see my reflection in that lake.
I am no wolf. I am a rabbit who has fooled herself.
You, my prey, are the wolf, and there is a rabbit here with You now,
And she is not afraid.
So grab me in your teeth.
Squeeze me and cruch my bones.
Taste every juice of my insides and spit me out if you must.
But know me.
Turn me wolf.