Fangs

 

It was sickening having to
look straight in their eyes.

No lights were on, dead
to everything in existence,
known eyes like that before
and they never leave you
alone afterwards.

All I had was an insolated room,
they couldn't unlock their side
of the door only my keys could,
if was alone, in that small room,
I couldn't bare to think what my
hands could have, would
have done.

I imagine something along
the lines of tearing limbs away,
crumbling them down like dust
wings belonging to moths
unable to fly anymore,

but what good
would come
out of that?

The pain never leaves you
but nobody talks about
those sentences you
carry on your back
day in, day out

I had to learn about
not allowing others
to deserve my fury
some years ago

because we forget
fury is a passion,
made out of
fangs and
claws.