The great beast
tipped with an army of
acid claws
it sported a color blue
so deep you could fall in
and no one would see you sink.
It’s favorite kind of prey
were the ones with the sanded wooden sides—
the ones that bobbed up and down
and were filled with goods.
The beast lurked just beside that snow capped mountain
the only home it ever knew.
The beast never stayed still.
It liked to roar and attack
and spray its poison mist
and drag a soul or two
d
o
w
n
but deep
d
o
w
n
it hurt
a growing pain
that radiated like the rays of the sun
that The beast hated so much.
Maybe The beast ate too much.
Everyone has bellyaches.
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