by Morgan Kirby

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Tonight the small and wily beast
Lurks just beneath my skin
Lays back its ears and sets its feet
And has a wicked grin

It never asks, this little thing,
If I consent or no
It merely creeps behind my eyes
It stalks, feral and slow

It lies to me. Well, does not lie,
But answers not at all.
It wants to climb and perch and watch,
To hide, to wait is all.

I do not bid it leave me be
I do not ask it stay
This wily beast, you see, is me:
I've always been this way.

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