He lies on the couch, demure; deceased;

A fallen warrior, an injured beast,

A beast that's by his own fangs marred,

A beast that's struck and stained and scarred,

By the ruthless stabs and cuts that life

Squeezed into his bloodthirsty knife,

A beast that's shy of going out there

A beast that's laid his own heart bare

Of word and ink and rhythm and rhyme;

A beast that's clearly past his prime,

And curled up under, with foe nor friend

Waiting for the eternal end.

A beast that entered college life

With the naivety of a three-year old

A beast that's lost all will to fight

A beast that's crushed and charred and cold;

For all that's left; he chooses to lie

Languid, lethargic, listless, lame-

A beast that's now what most beasts are

Insatiable, inhuman, insane.

A beast that took its time to love

A beast that laughed with the bullies

A beast that took a long, long swig

A beast that never recovered fully.

A beast that took the world for granted

And filled his fiendish, fickle face

With plastic words and gelatine smiles

A beast that turned them all away.

He craved for attention from every man

And traced verses of faith on sand

A beast that tore his home apart

And left a corpse upon the land.

For this beast of untethered lust

The leash of life did what it must

And crumpled his paper-thin pride

And made him cage himself inside.

And there he's now , too tired to try

A beast that lied, and still does lie

Blinking with the rhythm of the clock

As regret warms and fills his eye.

A beast that's drowned, a beast that's dry

A beast that lives, no sound nor cry

Unmoving; save the occasional stir

As a swift, stray tear comes crashing by.