I don’t remember what it was that made me take this route so that the only way I could write a poem about how I felt was for it to be through the eyes of something dead.


I’m a liar. I say that and the voice that speaks the truth in my head says in its monster voice that it was because of her. I guess I need my monsters to tell me the truth.






I’ve noticed something about a lot of movies where there is some sort of monster.

See, in too many stories, it’s a witch or a devil or an alien or something that has the shape of a human being, and that’s what you’re supposed to fear…and if it’s anything animalistic, then it’s a wolf or a dragon or a big cat…but the images of these things don’t excite the same revulsion or tension in me as the creatures that have more in common with insects or arachnids or cephalopods…


I think that the people who design monsters are beginning to catch on more and more that there is something about invertebrates that we utterly fail to relate to, and which makes them frightening to us in ways that humanoids and large predators will never be.


That’s just my opinion.






It’s probably a little late to start wishing I’d spent more time playing strategy games. I might be better at all of this if I’d ever learned to play chess properly.


I feel like I’m being forced to play this game where the safest strategy might be to stay at a table appropriate for my skill level and keep things friendly…but I’m this stupid Wolf-creature that can’t resist doing horrible things. At some point, I must’ve tried to drop out of the game or pretend I wasn’t playing, but that didn’t last.


It was today that I knew this.


It was like sitting alone at a table and realizing that, without even asking if I want to play, someone is dealing me a hand. The cards are being flicked over to me in a neat little pile, and without thinking, I take the cards. Only then do I look up and see that I’m playing against the Devil himself, and I can’t back out once I’ve picked up my hand…


I don’t know why I had to pick them up. It’s a game I can’t win, and I know that. But there’s something in my wolfishness that says without words to screw that knowledge and to play anyway.

I can’t win. I can’t.