beating, breathing, waiting
standing alone in the back.
His rage caged inside
waiting for his next victim,
hands clentched
fists ready for blood
the beast craves for souls,
souls of the damned.
Manipulation is his game
no master sculpter could beat him,
his hands form master pieces
his words form beasts.
Contact is dangerous for the weak
the weak minded controlled
manipulated by words and actions
mere puppets to the master,
expendable slave,
nothing more.
The beast waits
waits for his next victim
his next slave.
Like the artist he craves,
craves a subject,
craves the look of his creation,
craves freedom.
The beast lives...
-Jak Tunner
Community Member