He lies on the couch, demure; deceased;
A fallen warrior, an injured beast,
A beast that's by his own fangs marred,
A beast that's struck and stained and scarred,
By the ruthless stabs and cuts that life
Squeezed into his bloodthirsty knife,
A beast that's shy of going out there
A beast that's laid his own heart bare
Of word and ink and rhythm and rhyme;
A beast that's clearly past his prime,
And curled up under, with foe nor friend
Waiting for the eternal end.
A beast that entered college life
With the naivety of a three-year old
A beast that's lost all will to fight
A beast that's crushed and charred and cold;
For all that's left; he chooses to lie
Languid, lethargic, listless, lame-
A beast that's now what most beasts are
Insatiable, inhuman, insane.
A beast that took its time to love
A beast that laughed with the bullies
A beast that took a long, long swig
A beast that never recovered fully.
A beast that took the world for granted
And filled his fiendish, fickle face
With plastic words and gelatine smiles
A beast that turned them all away.
He craved for attention from every man
And traced verses of faith on sand
A beast that tore his home apart
And left a corpse upon the land.
For this beast of untethered lust
The leash of life did what it must
And crumpled his paper-thin pride
And made him cage himself inside.
And there he's now , too tired to try
A beast that lied, and still does lie
Blinking with the rhythm of the clock
As regret warms and fills his eye.
A beast that's drowned, a beast that's dry
A beast that lives, no sound nor cry
Unmoving; save the occasional stir
As a swift, stray tear comes crashing by.
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
