Honeycombs litter
The winter sidewalk
And the heat
Of my anger
Boils beneath
My feet
As I trample
The crystals
Of Jack Frost
Like a giant
Pillaging the
countryside
My Ogre
Keeps a steady pace
And I finger
The double dragon
Blade in my
Pocket to
Keep the external monsters
Of the night
At bay
While red
Blistering welts
Pop out of my
Skin, because
Too many people
Lately
Have gotten under it.
And I wonder
Where my beautiful maiden
Has gone.
Is she trapped
In a tower?
Thrown in a dungeon?
Held for ransom?
Under a spell?
Where has my
Beautiful soul gone?
Or is the ogre
My true form
And the maiden
Merely a mask?
Or is my pain
Just a transformative
Poison…
That has temporarily
Rendered me
Into this
Beast?