The end

Of his life approached from behind

Straight through the wall he cowered against

The shadow

Of our hate-tinged body swallowed him once again

His last light of hope sizzling into infinitesimal nothingness

The weapon

That beat him off the right path

Shone in another pair of innocent eyes

The strength

He once bore so fiercely in the face of fire

Now burnt to a feeble crisp by human embers

The fur

He had left was mangled and coarse

One flea for every time we neglected him

The truth

Is that monsters cannot bear four legs, but two

They have pointed at those with sharper teeth since

The beginning