It Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

lived, in surly (albeit confident) repose...
given a less-than-penetrating glance, it could have appeared to be smothering under scraps and spittle....
all the while sharpening its claws
on the slime-smeared inners of the bin...a fact that had gone unnoticed....
(the lid being unlifted and all)
it pretends no graces....spews a caustic bile...the recipients of these well-directed fluids are those whose hiding places were ramshackle, stuffed with senselessly-deployed weaponry.....
it does discriminate...it knows mercy, but has discarded that tool...
mitigate...mollify? (those m'n'm things, sugar-coated for the thin-skinned...)
it does not offer candy...