This Broken Thing

I need to fix this broken thing. It is hungry and wants to come out to play but its bones have become brittle with defeat; they have turned to ash. I need to fix this broken thing. When it sees the light, it scuttles back into the shadows that have become home. Licking wounds has never been so satisfying. Or more terrifying. It is afraid of strangers. It is afraid of mirrors. It is afraid of e v e r y t h i n g. People walk by its rusted cage to wonder what went wrong. This broken thing shouldn’t be here, but it is dangerous. It shouldn’t be allowed in public anymore. It shouldn’t be left alone anymore. I should put a yellow sign on it that says, “Come in, but be cautious” for it has been known to gnaw on flesh and feelings when attacked. This broken thing once bloomed. It once belonged to a solitary daughter of the moon. Its laugh once shook the room. This thing was once never a broken thing. But, certain things can only take so much before evolving into something broken.