Prose

My soul died the day the first sky-scraper was built.  It has been crushed beneath your cannons and boots.  Your tanks and bombs destroyed my lovely face.  But then you took the final shot.  You built those massive buildings so tall.  You built them so that they
would not fall off no matter how hard I shook.  You crushed my soul.  You cut off all my beauty – burying it below your foundations and concrete.  You made me ugly.  You made me vomit lava – my last defense against you.  And I have not given up.  Where my soul was, a beast now resides.  Hell-bent on revenge, on claiming myself back from you.  I will win in the end.  You are so young and foolish.  The other animals know not to anger me, but you have gone too far.  You have pushed too hard.  I am bigger than you and you will lose.