And I'm sure a hyena is still conscious of his laugh
a nervous tic he has to cut his anxiety in half.
In confusion he gasps and exasperates
"what kind of tyrant runs this place?"
To be left staring at an empty face.
And I'm sure an octopus struggles with its clutch
Grasping at the past because it's familiar to the touch.
They cannot let go, and they wonder "is this my destiny?"
another sucker for that ecstasy.
And I'm sure a black widow still cries about her fate
To choke the living love out of someone she embraced
To justify the pain, to save face, she cries out
"what cursed arms I must posses!"
while replacing her lace the way she knows best.
- Marion Jane Lefevre, 2020
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