Feral

Sometimes I feel

As if I am going feral -

Drooling, snarling, whimpering -

And making sounds no civilized person

Ought to make.

Trapped in a prison

And enslaved

By a hundred million years of evolution,

We are bound to one purpose.

I am feral.

Call me wicked, filthy, degenerate;

Call me nothing but what I am,

And nothing but what I do.

Words escape me,

Slipping from my mind 

Like silt between my fingers 

And smoke on the breeze:

Inarticulate. Feral.

I am trapped,

By a hundred million years of instinct

And a primal sense of need.

They trap my mind

In a cage of ecstasy.

I question myself,

Asking if I am the master

Or if I am enslaved,

But I'm not sure that it matters.

I am feral.

You can smell it on my skin,

See it in my eyes,

Taste it on my lips,

Hear it in my breath,

And feel it through my heart.

Gasping for air,

For the words that escape me,

I am helpless - powerless -

In the face of a hundred million years

Of ferocity.

Does it matter if you know what I am?

I am not sure that it changes anything,

So long as you know 

I am feral.