The Beast Hunts
Stalking through darkness
A feeling of encroaching predation
He seems to have a prowess
In checking for my sedation
Blinded by his appitite
His venomous fangs drip
Drip
Drip
Waiting to sink into nativity
He has no problem
Hungering,
Grooming,
Groping
"Playing" as he calls it
Hiding away in branches
One snap away from the beast
No matter how high
He's right there
He sits at the trunk, unmoving and unwaivering.
It's me it wants.
No one else.
I'm special to it.
Linked by blood that it can't untaste.
Readily devouring my spirit
his appetite threatening to spread
Suppressing all that I can be
Just so I can suffocate
He does so with such glee
shaking at my tree
Watching every fruit fall
But, he remains at the trunk
his mouth dripping in gall