Skittish

Can someone halt this hamster wheel
I'm dying to get off
beneath a winter moon so crisp and new
my pangs refuse another meal
of pellets that I scoff
in search of more substantial fare to chew

I scurry through my plastic lair
to sniff for some egress
and wind up where I was when I began
my whiskers twitch, I blankly stare
undone by the duress
of wondering when I'll become a man.