The twisted, gnarled beast inside his head
Towered over a frightened little boy.
Its eyes set there upon its newest toy.
Unarmed, it knew the boy would soon be dead.
But first it would have fun and mock his dread,
No sense to kill him without farming joy
from the fight so as not be destroyed.
The beast can kill after the boy has bled.
The boy took up the challenge, acting brave.
He reached toward his scabbard, grinning wide.
Ready then to slay and fight for his life.
But the smile quickly fell; turning grave,
He felt no weapon there upon his side.
He realized then that he had not his knife.
The monster pinned him to the wall so rough,
Said to him, “Do you know how weak you are?
How sad you look with all these petty scars?
How fake you seem when you are acting tough?
What pride compels you to act so stuck up?
‘Tis only you who brought yourself this far.
We laugh when you are weeping in your car.
So stop your crying and grow the fuck up.”
The boy could only listen with no blade.
Stripping him of his meager sense of pride,
The beast did impart on him some advice.
“When the darkness comes about, and light will fade,
Do us all a favor and step outside,
For you, alone, shall pay the final price.”