I am violence, and I live in you.

I am the howl that begins the hunt
as the breeze kicks up the autumn leaves
and a sliver of moon nests in the darkened sky
amid thunderclouds and electric lights.

In the unforgiving shadows I slither out,
nothing more than a ghostly glint of scales
and the cutting sear of poison in your veins.
You’ll cry out, but I’ll have your tongue around my neck.

Better luck next time.

I am the whisper from the mist telling you to jump
as the sea-salt wind knots its fingers in your hair.
Beyond the fog, where you can’t see,
I’m holding your bleating heart in my hands.

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updated Feb 2 by rhetoric