The Beast

When the beast comes for me,
sulphuric fumes slowly take over the
neurons in my mind. A stealth creature,
it’s prowess matched only by the force of his delivery,
an almighty blow, right to my core.

I never recognize his presence, until it is too late.
I should know the routine well by now,
when colors intensify,
when my fingers can decern grooves in patterns not yet canvased,
when fireworks explode with the certainty of possibility,
it is then that I should take my cue,
and retreat into black silence.
I should know the rhythm of this doom,
threatening my horizon.
I should know that my wits have to be sharper than the blade I find myself dancing on.
I should prepare myself by thinking ahead,
thinking aloud in my mind’s other dimensions

Don’t you see? Don’t you hear the whispered malcontent?
Don’t you feel the earth quake?

Shot trough, paralyzed with terror when the curtain rises,
there he is, my nemesis. The beast tempts me, baits me, he forces me
to enter his trap wrapped in glory. His kiss, a sweetheart extract pregnant with options,
the beasts favorite mode of torture.

I fall into the abyss, the decent rapid.I am in a torture chamber, my body infused with a thousand volts of misfire and agony. The beast has marked me with his calling card,
a chemical burn from my soul that radiates out,
turning to ash all I once loved.

Photo Credit: Kelli Brosnahan Flickr via Compfight cc

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