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Let sleeping dogs lie

Hounds,
Slumber resting in my mind,
Sounds,
Cast aside to find.

Roars of madness leading to action,
To the waking,
To a shift of convention,
They were always faking.

Ever watchful,
Hounds in mind,
Be careful,
Be kind.

Waking to a hunger hoary,
Sleep to delay the inevitable,
Waking to a forgotten memory,
Drowned in dreams becoming amiable.

Growling gullets,
An invited death,
Cower like piglets,
Out of breath.

Bite, chomp, chew, swallow,
Momentary satiety,
Howl now your keening bellow,
No longer an effigy.

Stones awaken to memory of flesh,
By the touch of subtle fires,
Breath plumes in anticipation of blood fresh,
As hounds haunt, skulk, stalk in the footsteps of liars.

Don't push the dog,
All he wants is to sleep,
Fun it may be to flog,
But the price too steep.

When the dog comes for you,
Fangs stained yellow,
Breath bearing stench of rotting lies,
A foul ferment of sugared candies,
No sustenance for those of my mind.

When the dog comes for you,
You fold into yourself consumed by fear,
Backed into a corner you soil yourself,
Oh dear, oh dear,
Lashing feebly with wasted arms.

When the dog comes for you,
His shadow will devour yours,
And he will laugh a mournful laugh,
Humour born of cynicism,
Born of bowing to hunger,
Born of his personal defeat.

When the dog comes for you,
He will laugh at you,
Before he chokes down bile and blood,
Mercy in fury.

When the dog comes for you,
He will speak to you,
An ancient tounge,
Completing your death,
By ink or by blood.

Idiocy isn't a choice you say,
I beg to differ,
For I once and still am,
An idiot.

When the dog comes for you,
Greet him as an old friend,
Brother Hate,
He will follow to no end.

He is as she,
Lover as biter,
Without gender, neuter?
Only guises.

Frames of mind encompass what never leaves,
Merely flitting from shape to shape,
Morphing continuously,
Driving forward mindlessly,
Adapting to new terrain,
Anticipating change.

What is felt is all the same,
The hound is as the lover was,
All they do is push,
To walk with bloody blistered feet.

To walk this road,
Jostled by hounds,
Keep me walking,
Keep me enraptured by pain,
Lest I stand an witness my dark thoughts,
Basking in endless epiphany.

Epiphany beckoning end,
The hounds they love me,
So they me push me forward,
On blood crusted knees.

They keep me,
Selfishly,
Fall is what I wish,
To follow in the footsteps of my child.

No, they become my milk,
I am weaned,
The child died long ago,
But the corpse lies there still, rotting.

I should have eaten long ago,
To delay is to indulge in pity,
Feed on the putrefaction,
Feed on death.

That rotting corpse!
It taunts me...
How it laughs,
Like a cackling crone.

That rotting corpse,
It tempts me...
Gold, land and blood,
Lies of recapitulation.

That rotting corpse,
He cut of her head,
Framed by white lilies,
We exchange blank eyed stares.

I feel nothing,
I laugh at him,
He smiles at me knowingly,
That rotting corpse...

I walk away,
In my mind I embrace the sky,
Dreams of flight,
Of freedom,
None of this weight bearing down my mind,
On my body,
Caving in.

I claw at my face,
Suddenly, I gag at the memory of her empty eyes,
Screaming madness with a throat so raw,
Her perfect almond eyes, baby brown,
He killed her only to spite me,
My childish little corpse.

That rotting corpse,
Still it smiles up at me,
Even as I dive down to embrace as I did the sky,
A crushing embrace.

That rotting corpse,
He knows of his doom,
He planned this,
He waits to die.

That rotting corpse,
One last petty act to abhor,
To bleed again old wounds,
To die as anger holds me.

That rotting corpse,
He seeks to make me as he,
To make me a child,
To succeed me in his demise.

No, even as I fall upon him,
Hound blessed tooth and claw,
I know him,
I will not kill him,
I will feed.

I crush every brittle bone,
I tear him to pieces,
Hound blessed tooth and claw,
Grieve at the death,
The change,
The loss.

As I gulp down the last of the rot,
To make him as one with me,
No longer lonely,
The subtlest of dominions,
I cry.

Tears of the eyes fall for once,
As I look into the blank of my lover's eyes,
She sees nothing but her own beauty,
She was always dead.

In remembrance of simpler times,
Shedding tears to rejoice,
Memories of simpler loves,
A simplicity born of a treasured lie.

Now I walk alone,
With a crowded mind,
I wear now the mask of the child,
Peeled off his suppurating skin,
The mask he wore to tempt me.

What better manner of man,
To bear the weight of this mask,
The one who knows it but wants it not,
The mask of Death.

The mask leaves me weak,
Leaves me tired but without sleep,
I will rest now in laughter,
Laughing the hound's laugh,
Mournful howl.

Why did you cast the stone?
Amusement?
Did not mother say to you,
Let sleeping dogs lie...