the bruises form constellations on my pale skin.
a crimson river spills from my nostril.
"i didn't hurt you!" cry the hunters as they aim the arrows directly at my forehead.
fury caresses the back of my head
and kisses me gently on my bloody cheek.
i feel the fire grow against the prison of my ribs.
crackling, breaking, bending, and screaming.
my claws dig deep into the dark soil,
and a monstrous, abnormal roar shakes the trees.
they weep in joy and collapse under their ancient legs.
i can't believe that came out of my own mouth.
my whole life, i have lived in this weak, mortal shell,
afraid to say no, yet willing to cower away so quickly.
that mortal cage is six feet under where the maggots eat at the lips and neck.
i refuse to be tortured, to be hunted, to be ruined.
these hunters who were once giant shadows that hid the forest floor
are now weeds that shriek from every thunderous step i take.
and so i'll pull the hearts out from their chests
and gobble them all down.
who cares about the blood that stains my teeth,
or the darkness in my eyes?
a feast fit for kings.
a beast fit for hunger.
when the new moon rises high and the torches are gone,
have mercy on those who have done me wrong.