What Day?

It watches me with wet, black pearls that I hope one day to burst. I think it never sleeps, though I have long since yielded any attempt to escape. My body is no longer capable. And yet I hunger. It brings me meat, at times. I try not to think. No, truthfully, I do not think. I greedily consume the oozing guts it provides as if it were indeed I that were the monster. It let me crawl to the edge of the nest, to drink from a small pocket of steaming water, though I suspect the noxious liquid slowly poisons me. I wonder, my friend, if you are still alive. Would you laugh with me, knowing the price we paid to hunt iron hides?