Hearts rhythmically thumping
They have begun hunting
Splotches of green and brown
Defenders of their little "town"
Eyes become slivers in the night
They have no bark, but are all bite.
Mouths wide with Cheshire smiles
Minds swirling with and stabbing at random wiles
Stampeding through hills and over grass
Down to the ground searching for the scent of what was there last.
Coarse cloth draping off of the ****** sweating forms.
Hauling what deadweight "beasts" they can lift after their swarms
In their minds, a group mentality, they are yelling and chanting and screaming galore
But in the dead of night, only harmless creatures are ear-sores.
Slithering across the dirt
Will the night or the hunt end first?
Slivers dart across the hell-heated jungle
Salivating at the thought of flesh and the deliciously seductive struggle
But alas, the sky becomes a lightened hue
And the flesh, due to the morphing of slivers, narrowly escapes becoming barbeque.