With My Head Inside Its Noose

The monster. It just sits there. Entombed, asleep. Inaccessible. Quietly coiled. If it so chooses, able to strike at any moment. And create chaos. At its option, all it needs to do is awake, squeeze a bit, grow, destroy. Nothing to stop it. For now, resting, seemingly hibernating. Why it hatched there, how it grew, why it stopped, whether it will reawaken and have its way, all unfathomable. Hopefully, it is a forever sated herbivore, not a soon to be gluttonous carnivore. Meanwhile, my head is inside its noose. I pay it no mind. There’s nothing to be done. So why worry?