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.
Copyright © Chris Yellow | Year Posted 2019
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