Flay me, shroud my body
in Saran wrap, for others to see
what you mean to me: a relief
map of live suffering,
writhing organs in a plastic bag,
a human soup to drag
behind you, sensitive to everything you do,
overflowing with formless worship,
pink, raw and dreaming
of a vicious kinship:
Open yourself and slip my parts in,
we can exist, two hideous beasts
within a single beautiful skin.

I am huddled in the coroner,
a little beast within a man,
And when at night he studies bodies,
I come out,
now and again.

Dear pussycat, you clever little beast
To hide the paws that hid the claws
That shred my pretty face.

Feline, fooled as I was to forget
Within your blood wildness simmered
Just beneath the folds and crease;

Of eyes that looked asleep!

You may be older by little,
You may not have all the greatest of looks,
Your teeth are as rotten as coal.
You may be skinny as bones....

But to me, i see....

A man with a loving smile,
A man who has deep ocean blue eyes that glow up a room every time you cry,
A man with a heart and soul,
Tender lover.
Innocence.

An imperfect man can seem so strange,
until you see the other side of his world,
where a man so *******, or beast like....
becomes a man you see through your eyes...
that you truly,

love....

I love a beast

this restless beast
i need to tame
gnawing at my stomach
setting fires to my cerebral
chewing at my throat
begging for attention
this restless beast
always rejects obedience
howling for affection
like a ******* mongrel
if it's voice becomes a whimper
can it be feminine again
i want my makeup to wash off
as more than war paint
i want to feel beautiful
without seeking validation
i want to shake
this restless beast
ruining my relationships
entertaining wicked thoughts
wrecking my sleep schedule
stepping on my neck
i never asked to own
this worn out excuse for a companion
but if it doesn't get lost soon
i'll ******* **** it

R.I.P.
by Michael R. Burch

When I am lain to rest
and my soul is no longer intact,
but dissolving, like a sunset
diminishing to the west ...

and when at last
before His throne my past
is put to test
and the demons and the Beast

await to feast
on any morsel downward cast,
while the vapors of impermanence
cling, smelling of damask ...

then let me go, and do not weep
if I am left to sleep,
to sleep and never dream, or dream, perhaps,
only a little longer and more deep.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Chained Muse. This is an early poem from my “Romantic Period” that was probably written in my late teens. Keywords/Tags: death, eternity, eternal rest, sunset, west, demons, beast, judgment, sleep, dream, nightfall, night, throne, vapor, vapors, impermanence