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The Beast

by Mercedes Gates 


Escaping the House of Horrors - or so they call me

eludes the sharpest of minds.

the woman - rife and riddled

haunted by the Empire of ill that rules the days past -

hunched over, in reflection of me

perched upon her jaded soul.

I manifest - wanted not - yet assigned cozy quarters

leaking black ink and stabbing burs

latching to the nook she carved in her chest.

The woman curses me, screaming for a life lived through

glitter covered glasses.

Does she know she summons me?

I am a beast

A creation of sharp silver tears and venom whispered in the desolate night

I do not want nor wish.

I am the Sovereign - Master of her Empire

built with bricks of hatred and the mortar of regret

putrid memories housed, lining the avenue cloaked in misery.

I do not hate the woman who fuels me with the like

I merely answered her softest wish

the breathless, wordless hymn

for someone to take her pain

but she did not mention I should leave

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