POEM: The Scream

The scream that shears souls off like tear-away suits. On the gasp, those souls are sucked inside that wide mouth. So hot does the heat grow that it glows like a flaming pumpkin. The monster’s got a bellyful of souls, fired into a forge of rage.

Wild-eyed and never a child — birthed into a blind fury. Sightless, those wide eyes — all expression no vision. Like the teeth that aren’t free to chew, but none-the-less seem fierce in form.

It looks the part of one who hates love, loves hate, but knows neither.

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