Monster, Fierce

Monster chained to ceiling and floor,

Walls alone never sufficient,

To keep still the massacre roiling beneath her surface,

She has fallen captive yet again.

It should come as no surprise,

Any good mystery reader assuredly plotted the end,

Long before she began enacting the last chapter,

The fall, the capture, the chains, so predictable.

Slinking, blackened corpses are not allowed to wander long,

The charred, sour, fetid odor disturbs politer society,

To be sure the fantastical, outlandish sight grows old,

Dripping fangs and torn flesh amaze and astound only so long.

To look back upon the beginning, perhaps she always knew,

Children of Hel are never truly free, free to taste, to burn, to bleed,

No, soon enough they are hunted and extinguished,

Poured into evening gowns and taught their manners.

Again she takes up residence in this pretty prison,

Surrounded by everything she may ever want,

Left without the very things she desperately needs,

And they grow and howl and thrash deep within her belly.

She would do anything now to earn torment,

To catch the glimpse of promised freedom at the end of a whip,

To watch skin slice open and blood seep from beneath welts,

What she would give to taste the ferocity by which she is so well known.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

No love, no kindness in hell. Just constant torment.
"To look back upon the beginning, perhaps she always knew,
Children of Hel are never truly free, free to taste, to burn, to bleed,
No, soon enough they are hunted and extinguished,
Poured into evening gowns and taught their manners."
The above lines. Hard, realistic and true. Thank you dear Poet for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote