Bitter, Black Bitumen
Hits my heels
Hitting the streets again
Distort my features
And
Crawl into creature stance
All keep your Keepers to close at hand
Mind; fight the Chains
That your Flesh is Weaker than

Unconscious like I Breath
I digest the hand that feeds
Digress from lessons learned
Forget, Suppress the sense of Urgency
Hound howling at the half moon
Werewolf scowling in the quiet weeks
A tension in my spine that only night will fix

Mechanical movements;
I lose them and
Slide
Through the sewers
Like serpentine turpentine fumes.
I find solace in hollow pits
Where no one can witness,
watch this
Or view
The unobserved atom makes
Unobserved moves
And
I reserve actions that only I view
Confused
Satisfaction is vapid and crude
Reactions are rapid and skewed

Born into the cult of the
Hypocritical,
Habitual,
daily ritual
Summoning a false face
Facade to cover
The flesh our mothers made
My skin could never scowl like this
My smile could never snarl this way
Can only hope my body doesn't
Learn the tricks my mask plays
Can't count the amount of eye contact 
avoided
With a fast gaze
I'm just a product of the context
In which I'm Placed
But I'm wondering if the demon that I'm summoning
Will want to go away

Surrounding my soul in salt circles
to surround myself in fake.

SALT CIRCLE

Violent Alter Ego
Bathe in the strange.
vilehound@gmail.com


HOUND

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