There’s a beast lurking in the darkest depths of my soul. Its nourishment is the silent screams that escape me whenever faced with decisions that conflict. The beast is full and hideous, it rides on waves of blood and ruts with putrid beauty a dozen times over until the nether is bruised and each groan is pain not pleasure.

  I see a dawn that baths everything in a light that promises a new beginning. With it comes the song of song birds, offering respite from the darkness of before and its silence where every heart beat is noise and every whisper is a shout. In this light I find peace but the beast within chuckles, knowing that everything has an end and deep in my soul the light of dawn cannot touch it.

  I kneel beside my bed and offer prayer to the one who framed existence from the very fabric of atoms, weaving and chiseling until the art of stone and cloth touch, then caress until existence is no longer a rumor but a place where hearts dwell and eternity teases upon the edge of life. But the beast within snorts at this, knowing full well that death is an aboard much more favorable to its needs.

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  The beast doesn’t want to dwell where a heart beats but where decay reaches out with rot in the air, trailing fingers and cursing skin until maggots emerge from the flesh within and only the weight of earth obliterates the memory of ever existing.

  The beast ruts with putrid beauty, lays with innocent curiosity and defiles the very notion of love. And from this union is birthed grief and sadness who torment and clutch and suckle as a babe would a tit. Forever draining, forever ensuring the beast’s yearning for an end is beyond the borders of fantasy. And the song birds cease their singing for in the end every creature knows that all is lost.