Mark Matthews Poet Free verse

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.

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