Dark Creatures

http://wordbiscuit.com/images/wasps.jpg

                      < the paper wasps >
         
          build their nest out from the white boards under
          the eaves of my mom's house
          that will be mine someday
          and i see them each day since
          they're by the kitchen door
          every day
          as i take out the trash
          as i walk the dog
          as i let in the cats
          as i let out the cats
          as i let them in again
          and me as well and my neighbors and friends and
          people who would sell me god and
          all the rest of the life
          that passes through and
          they haven't stung us yet and this is some sort of miracle
          since they are paper wasps
          and are known for being
          very irritable
          and someone
          (but not, thank goodness, the people who would sell me god)
          suggested
          that i kill them
         
                            - - -

Thanx, for your entry Lemmy. :D

Sewer Rats

A costume of skin that I hide within.
Peel it away and let the blood wash me clean.
Not the grin of confidence, but forgetfulness.
Erasing the pain by bricking it up in a lower chamber.
Letting the water warp and rats devour it.

At least it is useful to something.
At least it can nurture someway.
At least it will be forgotten somehow.
But the rats will find a way out just as they found a way in.

A new place to make a new nest near new food
A place where they will build their new home
by chewing a hole through the tender spots
Covering the floor with the discarded hearts,
thoughts, memories, regrets,
words, places, things,
actions, facts, and fictions,  
so the young ones won't starve where they are borne

Even though the pain is bricked up and walked away from,
it still feeds the hungry who strive to eat
to survive a cleansing that the washing of the blood offers.
To wash one clean of a blinding ignorance.
The ignorance that allows one to walk these corridors full of emptiness
and not notice the rats that died of starvation
upon which the others are feeding.
When the dead are stripped clean of rotten flesh and healthy flesh,
the living will feast on their feces.
So even with open eyes there will be nothing to see.

Seeking Comfort With A Tiger

Once, when you were young
And over-apt to dream  
You beheld a tiger  
 
And it was breathtaking.  
 
After all, and for what seemed like forever after,  
All you did was think about and dream of those
Large, focused, topaz-yellow eyes,  
sparkling wild and playful;  
The sleek grace and raw power of its finely tuned frame  
Stalking its territory knowing all within were prey;  
The beautiful and unique adornment of its rust and amber hues  
Cut neatly into segments by slash-like black stripes  
Violent and precise.  
 
Of it, you were possessed.  
With it, you were obsessed.  
In a same skin, from time to time,  
You imagined to be dressed,  
So you could be just as strong,  
as graceful,  
and as confident as its presence did suggest.    
 
But you needed more.    
 
Those few degrees of separation that remained were just a certain torture.  
 
So full renewed you pursued with every ounce of zeal,  
That one-step difference that could make you,  
to this tiger,  
More than just a meal.    
 
You asked around and found,  
through other’s trial and error,  
simply that these big cats love nothing more than to dismember  
and consume,  
and replenish  
those focused, topaz-yellow eyes, sparkling wild and playful.    
 
But you just saw the game of course,  
and yourself, the exception to the rules.    
 
You went about learning everything you would need to know:  
How to care for,  
How to feed,  
Whatever, in order to proceed  
To get close enough to breathe its same air.    
 
Every little detail you compared,  
dismembered,  
and consumed,  
obsessed with the possession of its rust and amber hues  
cut neatly into segments,  
Violent and precise.    
Black stripes like blindfolds, covering your eyes.    
 
Closer still  
You pulled until its proximity made you feel  
Something more than just adornment,  
Above all else, important.  
In fact, you were the focus of its topaz-yellow eyes  
sparkling wild and playful,  
 
And now...    
You held their gaze.    
 
Closer still, it stalked.    
The thrill!    
Of finally meeting it in person!    
 
Your hand held out  
true devout in your need for complete and full immersion.
 
Its body low, its shoulders high,  
A game you both can play.    
There’s a winner and a dinner  
And only one will walk away.    
 
“But no,” you say,  
“I know this play I’ve written and rehearsed.”    
But did your plot and character know this tiger would come first?    
Take a bow.    
There’s nowhere now left to which to run.    
This happy ending’s at a table
Set and candlelit for one.    
 
Upon your face,  
with tiger’s pace,  
this realization dawns,  
and stuns,  
as your body’s blood doth run  
down hand and chest and thigh,  
as tooth and nail and strength prevail in quenching appetite.
   
Ripping,  
Tearing,  
Topaz-yellow eyes ensnaring  
Sparkling wild and playful.  
 
The shock subsiding,  
your mind deciding,  
What this tiger wants is just too painful.    
 
So you gather your wits and severed bits  
and rob the tiger of its meal.    
 
Soul shattered,  
a dignity left in tatters  
from claws like silverware scraping clean  
a plate once serving gourmet matters of the heart.
   
You’re now screaming,  
standing and beating at the cage door  
hoping some other handler will come and let you out  
To save you from further dismemberment.    
 
Embarrassment a given,  
another tiger attack that could have been prevented  
had they noticed the nature in its slash-like black stripes,  
Violent and precise.    
 
But as you beg, there’s none to save you.    
Per your request, the cage contains you  
and though you wait for tooth and claw to overtake you,  
There come none,  
and so again your expectations fail you.  
   
You find a moment in this trial and terror  
to take a breath and breathe,  
and relish the reprieve,  
to think of something other than the folly of your error.  
   
All the while your heart is pounding,  
torn from your chest,  
the sound resounding,  
beating in your hand  
astounding that the organ would even still be given to play.    
 
The tiger sits and licks its whiskers clean,  
not to savor but to wipe away,  
the taste of flesh it no longer craves  
after all its fond and frequent dreaming.    
 
You look down to your wounds and are astonished at what you’re seeing. Slashed thighs,  
black stripes,  
violent and precise.    
 
The bleeding wounds have stained you.    
Now your rust and amber hues rename you,  
Retrain you,  
to be careful what you wish for,  
what you think and what you say.
   
A new tiger stalks it terrortory,  
knowing all within are prey.

Thanks everyone for your entries.:)