The Beast

This beast inside of me,
occupying space and time and memory,
has trapped me in prison,
constructed oddly – inside out.
Purring, gnawing at my hopes,
turning into lead and flowing in my veins,
pouring – steely cold – into my organs,
so that the weight of my body
becomes too much upon my soul.

Does it know that it is dulling my senses?

I wonder if it was always this monster,
Perhaps, the horrors of the world turned it wild.
Perhaps, it was scared and exhausted to be judged,
Perhaps, it was only looking for a place to hide.