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