The beast withinI howl when words written about ancient contradictions, lock you outside yourself.The beast within
I have seen such loathing once before, rot a pretty rose.
Does the feeling persist, does the creature still yearn? Or has that treasured guilt, frightened us away, from the ruthless beast in you, so soft to touch.
Should I let, all that was, scatter into indifference, after these few clumsy words are uttered, or submit to an unlikely reverie.
Are words which escaped unanswered, on a beautiful mountain, echoing back in the shadow, of what could have been?
