The Taste Catching Hold (Part 1)
Here it is,
the taste lingers
pulling at my core,
gnawing
at that spot behind my ear.
“How will I act?”
rampages through my mind
splintering everything
in its path.
The beast
is in a frenzy
in my mind
battering itself on its cage,
I don’t think
anything
short of death
will satisfy it
(as usual).
My tongue
runs across my teeth
absentmindedly,
craving
the fluid
running hot,
down my chest.
The scent
of your flesh
is clawing into my brain,
slowly cutting
into the cage,
trying to urge me
out of my rest,
my sabbatical,
desiring
my tearing
of your flesh
as much as I
wish
to seditiously
bite through
the tender skin
of your neck
and soak myself
in the life empowering
elixir that
flows from your veins,
stinging my eyes
as I gorge myself
languishly
on that
crimson liquid
with it’s
thick viscosity
filling my stomach.
A bar snaps
from all the pressure
coming at it
from so many sides.
I am free
and my blood
starts to burn,
hair trying
to rip out of my neck.
I flex my claws
feeling the rush
coursing through my body,
my sight sharpens,
and narrows
marking you
as my target,
my thirst quenching
piece of flesh
that I shall
carve like a turkey dinner
with my
flesh fiending
finger blades,
and as I enjoy
licking the remnants
of you
caught on my
“curved daggers”
my body
shakes
with anticipation
for the rest of you
like a dope fiend
needing that next fix.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
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