Compatible Monsters - 5

A battle rages in each human soul:

A war betwixt his virtue and his vice;

His hungers versus his humanities, 

The dark side of his nature 'gainst his light.

Each of us is burdened with the choice

To weigh the common good against our needs --

To put the needs of others 'fore our own;

Such is the human experience.

Some souls are stripped of innocence too soon,

Forced to measures drastic, to survive.

There exists no sin in self-defense,

But from the aftermath, survivors crawl

They are not healed, nor even as they were:

The demons of our pasts have hooks for teeth--

Though many come through such abuse in time,

Some become the monster to be feared. 

The girl has only ever known abuse,

Her body and her mind both dragged through Hell.

Mother kept her mouth shut, out of fear,

Each boyfriend more a scumbag than the last.

They'd set eyes upon the little girl,

Mother having long since lost her youth;

Bitterness and jealousy took root:

"You seduced them. This is what you get."

The light within her soul has been snuffed out;

She knows no joy-- just pain, and seething rage.

A feral creature, wild and dangerous,

Devoid of mercy or compassion.

She fears the darkness and its gaping maw

Swallowing what goodness she has left,

Gnawing bit by bit, like starving bugs,

Leaving her a soulless, empty husk.

I can sense all this. She knows I can.

She knows just as I how terror smells.

So beautiful, the deadly little thing.

A pity she's so broken and confused. 

I could help -- and rest assured, I will,

But first I need her help, I do admit. 

These bodies are so finite, so fragile. 

This one will work for now, but time is short. 

What a pity, too. Such skill he has,

This man whose body I chose to possess!

An undertaker - dresser of the dead,

Whose task is to preserve death's dignity.

Unfortunate that he undressed them too,

And did unpleasant things to the bodies. 

I say "pity" mostly for his sake--

His depravity has a smell, too.

I have no light. I am darkness made flesh.

By many names I have been called, in fear.

For centuries I have wandered the world,

Seeking out the darkness in you all,

Feeding it, like raw meat to a cub,

Nuturing and coaxing it to life,

Honing your hatred to a point,

Teaching you to weaponize your hate.

This girl, however -- what a specimen!

So graceful, elegant and unrestrained;

Her body fluid, like a dancing flame 

But razor sharp, and fueled by her fury:

Beautiful, my little murder queen--

A spectacle, her dance of pain and blood.

Not once have I apprenticed one before,

But exceptions can always be made. 

I will teach her to embrace her hate;

To see it not as liability,

But as a weapon to defend herself,

Or to revel in how pure it feels

To let warm blood drip slow through her fingers,

To watch the light go out in someone's eyes,

To feast upon their final scraps of fear, 

Until they resign to the abyss.

She's perfect, my demonic little nymph. 

Her fury ripe, her mind just weak enough

To plant a seed of trust, and loyalty,

Convince her that she needs my services

To get out of this place -- and once achieved,

We'll steal away together in the night;

Two monsters, ever lurking in the dark,

A trail of bodies our dark legacy.

Of course, she may reject what that entails --

But you know who they say's in the details.

----

© Jackson Cambridge, 2015.