Inner Beast





I could no longer tolerate my inner beast.


But plundering souls make an excellent feast,


And much of the time I am out of my mind,


So I ripped him asunder piece by piece.


His heart was stale but it was bloody at least.


I had such a fine time. I remembered to bring the very best wine.


As I gnawed through the night on gross runny pulp,


chewing long, biting hard, I’ll admit I enjoyed taking mindless gulps.


I forced him down into the hell of my bowels.


Wicked gin with red wine made me forget his scowls.


Eventually anesthetized. I was hungry I’d had enough of him.


I feel shame relishing the most barbaric sins.


Can I be forgiven by Mary or john, or dear me, by Him?


Or is salvation a fool’s fanatical whim?


If I was sure I could salvage my putrid soul,


I’d walk a straight line for the rest of all time.

01/14/2007

Posted on 01/15/2007
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