The Beast and His Potion

The Beast and his Potion
by Lawrence Raysor

I am my own dead weight
A ball and chain of unexpressed emotions,
Masked by a skinny man’s face
A beast lies within, unawoken.
If I feed the beast his potion
He’ll lie dormant with his eyes open
Continuing to gain weight
With a tightly bitten tongue
and a pain unspoken.
Misery’s the path that has been chosen.
Who knows by whom?
The body is no longer a sanctuary
It is now just a tomb.
It has simply become warehouse
Here is where the beast of emotions
Lies enclosed and broken
The only hope is that the store is open
When the beast is awoken
And needs his potion.