Dehuman

The Dehuman

The Dehuman is a form of human.

Its life is very short-lived.

If it wasn’t a monster, it’d possibly be tragic.

It hides, and it burrows deep

As an aggressive abyss hiding,

Until the day when the Dehuman

Tears away its human disguise

Revealing its true form, broken and reviled.

Complexion a pale-green, a

Color found only on the past dead

Or close to and skin the texture of

Mud and melted candle wax.

Its hair is wired, always gray,

 Strung out in every direction

And to the floor where it mops its puss and sweat.

And if you happen to chance upon

Its eyes, fire met in a stare,

It’ll sniff the air, closing in on

A fresh and strong meat smelling of red

At the moment of the capture’s escape,

The poor damsel’s natural instinct to

 Run from it, the Dehuman

Will roar, throw its head back in fury and pain.

 Moaned and starved, it bites its own lips

 And drinks its own blood to shortly satisfy

 Its own hunger. Its fists break

Through the pecks of its chest,

The strength in its massive hands

 And not its bony arms. Its detached black heart

Now beats away in its palms,

 Crying, “Mercy, mercy please!”

But its legs are weak and its feet

Are tired. It lies in silence, collapsed in blood,

Clasping with its dying might, its

Heart, poured in crude oil. Watching its heart beating

Slower with closing eyes.

Picture credit: Francisco Goya “Saturn” (Although he never named his paintings himself)

tbt to when I was an epic teen poet and wrote a creepy poem. I had this painting in mind when I wrote it. I don’t know if you can tell. Happy belated Halloween, my lovelies 🙂