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.