The Dark Beast

At the bottom of my gut, the dark beast is waking up.

Snarling, it twists and turns in its fleshy cage

Regularly rattling the bones in its cold rage.

A heinous metronome fuelled by hate

Counting down the remaining beats of my heart.

When at night, the dark beast’s ennui grows and flares up,

It patiently stretches its gnarled claw

Layer after layer, strips the nerves raw

Firing salvos of stabbing pain

 All the way to my helpless brain.

A lycanthrope at birth, the dark beast sometimes climbs up

Ruthlessly crushes the lungs away

Scratching and flaying the flesh in its way

Coiled around my spine, it reaches the heart

And delightfully releases its poisonous bite

During those accursed nights when the dark beast keeps flying up

It viciously mauls the throat

Maliciously shreds the vocal chords

Silencing the soul to magnify the inflicted pain

Until I choke and drown on its spiky mane

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