The Most Terrible Beast

You hear at both ends of simultaneous conversations. Your mind splits cut by the the pounding of their voices. The vibrations slowly turn the key to the lock of the beast. The nails at the end of its fingers scratch your throat from within with a deafening screeching as it presses its way up. Raises pine needles alert behind your neck and that is how you know! You growl, try to hold it down. But it jumps out! Like vomit, kicking you back, claws drawn, roaring thunder, of fur naked. Its scales color the floor of holes scatter light by the edges drawing its slithering silhouette. Before you straighten from its rejoiced punt your eyes see through its. The eye-leads, those rarely lock dark blood surrounding a deep pit from the sides. In those instants you try to pull it back in, but it's been shaded too long, it hungers for the sun and it almost eats it whole for he is a black hole. The voices stop, recoiled glares instead, that it is immune to, won't stop its rage. My rage! And its name. For there is not a most terrible beast than the one I cannot tame within.