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Devin Ortiz Jul 2017
This desert, dry as my lips, as my eyes
Which shed no tears.

This pale sheet of barren hell,
The voice of isolation.
Far, these days, from heaven.

I take a long drink, perhaps my last
Not to quench my own thirst,
Drawn from my own mouth.
But, to cure the insatiable thirst
That was my Father's.

Which has grown fiendishly in me.

But I drink, and I know
And I loathe, twisting
Myself into something mean,
Bitter and wrong.

I own this beast
I know his name
I curse my father
I devour his shame.

Though most of all, I walk forward,
Never averting horizon's gaze.
Alec Jul 2017
An illusion in the mind
Twisting and turning through time
Endless hunt
Surroundings repeat, seemingly stuck in a rut
Running, running, running
This beast is too cunning
No tracks, no scent, no way to find where it hides
In the darkness it lies
Waiting for just the right time...
When will it strike?
There's nothing to do but wait,
Let a few tears roll down in angst.
Aside from that just run until you go insane...
For the Beast, it calls your name.
Wilkes Arnold Jul 2017
Drift on drift on but rhythm run
And timber flail with the rolling throng
What little lies in wanting yet waits
for not all waiting want doomed to rot

But wait but wait beasts heart do beat
For tragic fear and demented dreams,
Of drowned minds and blinded crowds
Of crashing hooves and shattered screams

Ribble rabble and squalor squabble
over thoughts that streak between their feet
May one grab hold and its secrets unfold
A world without waiting or babble
Comments and criticism welcome
Apporva Arya Jul 2017
Spent childhood ,
dreaming of a prince and castle.
Grown up and learned
All beauties Don't need beasts.
Everybody changed .Now its my turn.
Shruti Atri Jul 2017
I feel a presence inside of me
The presence is not a part of me

I carry an ache in my chest
The ache demands that I surrender and rest

There is a darkness in my eyes
It was fed by your deceit and your lies

I found my memories that I'd lost
That night, you paid your cost

Don't look for my heart, its eaten by the beast
*It lives in me, where I can hurt it least
Psychosa Jul 2017
To him, I was beautiful,
To me, I am a beast.


In my eyes, he found the world,
yet my eyes were blind to all but the dark forests.

On his lips I could taste his spirit,
with none filling mine own.

In my hand, he found his,
yet I could feel nothing.

On his skin, I was painted as a rose,
ever wilting as my black heart faded from him.



To him, I was beautiful.
To me, he was beauty.
But who could ever learn to love a beautiful beast?
IPM Jun 2017
Thousand years I've lived in
snares,
by the darkest cells of
time
frightening everyone who
dares...
punished for unproven
crimes.

Release my soul! - is all
I plead,
but never answered stayed
the prays,
anger in my mouth was fed
bound by shackles-
were cursed my days.

And every try, every blade
couldn't slay this cursed
beast,
a single light above
begins to fade,
on plates, stacked with
feathers
my jailers feast...
The Writer Jun 2017
The beast watches from afar
yet close enough for me to sense its presence
like a cat watching a mouse
a predator closing in on its prey

It whispers into my ear
taunting me with  fears and doubts
while I can only listen
and act like nothing is wrong

It disappears for a while
as I strengthen and lull into false security
until it strikes once more
with its harsh words and painful accuracy

I can't run from the beast
because no matter where I go
it always finds me
and reminds me just how broken I truly am
Shanath May 2017
I was humming to myself,
I often do now.
A way to distract my mind
From the clouds of thoughts
That ultimately rains as sadness.
I was humming and I was unequipped.
And the trouble with being oblivious
(An outcome of humming or doodling
Or daydreaming)
Is that we shut our defenses
And open ourselves to attack.
I was climbing up the stairs,
Hair dripping water
And wet clothes in one hand,
I was climbing up the stairs,
I was humming to myself
                                      Unarmed.

(A question- if we are unarmed
And see an armed person,
Is it necessary that person to be dangerous
To feel in danger?)

I moved the thick curtain,
A choice of my sister
I say,
I can't confess how I picked it too
But I hate its colour now.
I danced my fingers through
The waves of it,
All I wanted to reveal
Were the steps that continued
But there he was
                              A beast.

In a stance, staring right at me
In my own turf
He was questioning me.
He was the stranger not me.
He was the intruder not me.
But I was unarmed
And his claws dripped of dried blood
I pictured,
We stared at each other for
The nth of a second
That seemed like ages.
I was drowning in his eyes,
An effect of humming beforehand
I believe.
Then my mind snapped
Like a rubber band
Stretched too far for too long
And a scream
As shrill as that of a kid
Escaped my mouth.
Broke all my teeth
Parted my lips
Tore away my tongue
And I screamed with all my might.
(I feel it was all my fear
Rolling out all at once
At the slightest chance of an escape).

Whether my scream faded
Or did it stick to that very step
Or did my voice die down
I can't say,
But as fast as my heart beats,
I was down
Behind a glass door closed
And a wooden one slightly ajar,
I was now a captive in my own home.
My screams now words,
It's silly how human fears
Are better described by sounds
With ill fitted
                        words.

After moments gone,
Having gathered my strong,
Calm demeanor
I carry most of the time,
I grabbed a stick.
I swear I wouldn't
If it didn't just lay there
As a lonlely toy that needed holding.
I couldn't wield it to hit
I know,
But I could make some noise
As if my voice wouldn't have been enough,
The beast had ran
                                Too.

Listen to me, he is the dangerous one
Not me, not me ever.
I tapped the stick at the railings
As I climbed a step then another
All the way till the point
Where my scream lingered last.
I bobbed my head slightly ahead
Of my body,
The beast could tear my face off
But not my heart I reasoned.
There it was, a mess,
Milk, and rice,
Cereals, biscuits,
Containers open and spilled,
Things scattered but things I say,
To the hungry beast
                                - Food?

I climbed up the remaining stairs,
Following his footsteps,
The markings he left,
The dripping water off his soul.
Can I confess now,
The beast was a kid,
And his tiny hands couldn't hold on
To all the food he stole?
                                        Borrowed?
        ­                                                  Needed.
And finally at the door,
A whole packet of cookies
Lay there, like a star
That fell from the sky
Unhinged it dropped on the ground
Where it didn't belong.
I didn't pick it up I followed ahead,
He passed that door,
I concluded from where he
                                               Broke in?
                           Discovered through.

And went ahead to the bigger one
Where we welcomed guests
That neither belonged.
I shut that door,
Locked it now.
And came to my room.
Kept the stick aside,
Leaning it on the wall,
Like a dancer resting his feet.
And sat on the bed
                                  Evolved.

                 ­     I fought off a beast?
A beast scared off a hungry kid.

(I hope he managed to steal something away
At least bit into something before I intruded.)
If I keep some food out
Will he come and take it?
K Balachandran May 2017
Watching alone, the world in perpetual motion
from the view point on my balcony,I see  the beauty!
my eyes catch her and her's mine,I say this to myself
"Some thing humane in these days of stares and scares"
While she flies a kite from the high rise opposite,
the protest,challenge and the revolt in that act was evident,
she made sure,that  I didn't miss the political point.I am sure.

Her kite, navigated with such consummate skill,fell near me,
My eyes read this message on her face "Rescue me from the beast"
wasn't it really an expedition to find the beast in question!
Fascinating specimen was he!I was taken in by his narration.
As a better narration commands merit,I did honor, kept quiet.
There are only perspectives...so a good narrative has greater truth!
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