My Beast

What sort of beast
Is this that feasts
Upon my soul?

It eats me up from
Inside out
And never leaves me whole

No matter how much
I scream and shout
The beast never flounders

For it really likes
All my juicy bits
Like McDonald's quarter pounders

And once it has finished
To my dismay
It doesn't even leave

The beast, sated
Sits and waits
Giving me ample time to greave

Then, of course
Like any good soul
Mine grows back again

Just in time for my
Little beast
To eat up all my gain

    -- Bem Ajani Jones-Bey (04/10/02)