Tore off my roof, invaded my home.
Well, look your fill. It's all that you'll get.
Don't pick me up, or else you'll regret.
I'm covered with spines, though they're too small to see,
but the venom they hold is quite fearsome indeed.
And don't think to skin me. My blood is alive
with bacilli against which none but me can thrive
and my muscle is toxic, and so is my bone,
and my spit and my sneeze. That's why I'm alone.
Mutation, you'd say. Misfortune, say I.
We come along once in a while. Then we die.
Our mothers we kill at the moment of birth.
We poison the goats on which we are nursed.
We poison the nanny whose hand gets too near.
Even a monster needs something to fear.
And that's why they keep us. They need us, you see.
Even monsters have monsters. The freakshows, like me.
The loneliest creature, the poisonous gnome --
so look your fill. Then leave me alone.