Eyes of Fenrir

Incredible.

The eyes of Fenrir penetrating,

shredding, destroying,

the mask of perfection,

sending the worms moving,

running fleeing

to the shelter of the apple

whose flesh

(such a succulent infection)

seduces like a poison.

Oh, those eyes,

such soulful eyes,

burning through my

defences -- seizing my heart

and swinging it

like a pendulum.

The wine is empty

and my eyes are full.

These hands are brushing, 

rubbing, scratching

at the maggots

feasting on my misfortune.

So trivial, so futile.

Trying to cut the strings

andbreak the sticks.

A primitive operation

with no anaesthetic, 

injection, nor sanitation,

just a desperate struggle.

And those worms,

oh, those silly little worms, 

always in pursuit.

A rat race for the apple,

its saccerine body and its

bitter end.

The abhorrent creatures

stop in unison.

Their eyeless faces turned,

hypnotically

transfixed on the pendulum,

the movement, the repition.

One symbiotic mass of 

anticipation.

Waiting for the strings to

snap and the pendulum to

stop

and for Fenrir to swallow me

whole.