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The Feral Muse
I sit and wait inThe drizzle and the dark,
Even as the shadows
Threaten to devour me.
But eventually,
If I am patient,
My muse will creep
From her burrow.
Her fur will bristle
Against my shoulder.
The stench of her breath
Will burn my eyes.
Her whiskers
Will tickle my ear,
As she whispers tales
That touch my reader's soul
And illuminate
The way out of Hell.