“The Beast”

The pain is excruciating,

so dark that it reveals hatred,

black inside out,

all are diminished,

except this wound,

of a broken heart.

A nightmare,

hugging this creature

with poison thorns,

sticking into its flesh,

suckling its red,

but black instead.

And this dark vines,

searching for vengeance,

but find none

except loss,

as the Death would promise,

where it would end.

While holding this jet-black rose,

this beast will arise,

and consume that is none,

and leave it as it is there,

so shall will it be,

when this shall ends.

Hatred would be this soul,

vengeance would be this heart,

and so shall this blood,

and the beast,

shall live throughout

your life’s.