Muscles rolled beneath his black velvet coat as he paraded into this new home, this place called Hopeful Valley. Masculine beast had finally escaped his mother’s determination to turn him to her own perverse and twisted plans. The beast would never be dark within his soul, or wicked in his heart. And so he was nothing to her anymore. Alone. But did not prefer this path, as he was a social animal and favored some company to none.

So here he was, inky tresses warming his neck like a heavy scarf, eyes half-blinded by those pieces spinning about his face. He scented others like him, audits leaned forward hoping to capture even the faintest sound of another. Hearing nothing on the border of the valley he churned thick pistons into motion and went forward again, further into this unknown place.

He stopped when he could finally hear faint voices, and hoped that they had heard him.




These bayonet scars
Never cease
To blind the light shed from the beast
And all we do is hate

degradation
nothing, anywhere
nothing to anyone