Pesky quill quit writing such things,
deep black angry words on a page,
like gold on the thrones of makeshift kings,
a snatched pet for every iron cage.

Star-nosed moles and slugs enchant you,
you've a penchant for the repulsive,
and creatures that can't fly away, who knew?
The array of your sickness makes me convulsive.

Another gullible one caught in the net,
don your predator mask and drag her in,
chivalry is alive and well I bet,
not in the grimy, foul places I've been.

Never search the sewers for treasure,
I'll let the rats fight for the trash,
darling whatever gives you pleasure,
an alleyway addition for your "private" stash.

Oh woe is you the world is against you,
fear not, I've unearthed your answer why,
the secret is that you're the clue,
good luck with that ever wandering eye.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Chronos, in the year 710 AF.