They all are impatient to unleash their canine from within.
They are burning to bite, devour,
anxious to use their fangs
concealed under their masks of civility.
Toss them an excuse
they would burst out of their lamb custom,
the custom of ease and grace,
to celebrate a gash
in the flesh
of a suddenly unveiled innocence,
a wrongly accused,
those who nobody ever
would tends to,
how sitting duck, they are.…
Because darkness and facelessness my dear
are where the blood thirst
cannot be muzzled
in its mask of gentility.
