My spirit animal is a dragon,
But I don't spout fire as a sign of dominance,
nor am I able to fly in the air with such confidence.
My skin isn't hard like scales,
a single scratch of a finger nail and I can bleed.
But like a dragon, I'm not free.
Cowarding in my cave, laying on top of my gold.
Protecting it for days when I'll grow old.
Only going outside to get more,
everything else in the world is a chore.
I'll cuddle my cold coins until I groan,
be it the early visit of death or sharpened sword of a knight.
I'll more certainly die before I even spend it all.
Lonely and old, in death I won't have my coins.
For I am the Dragon,
and in this fairy tale,
I'm nothing but someone's small detail.
