Monster.

A tall man stood leaning against a questionable building, his chapped lips tightened around a lit cigarette. His eyes looked towards a gray sky and he blew smoke out of his nostrils. You could tell, even from a distance, how content the man was with himself. He held a smirk like a mother would hold a crying child, and when he spoke he contemplated each word.

I am Jack’s acid filled mouth. I spit words like a typewriter spits ink.

Intimidating was an understatement, he was utterly unapproachable. His palms were scraped and his unbuttoned shirt, thick with blood, blew in the wind.

I am home to thirty-two ungrateful teeth and a numb tongue.

His skin was littered with scraps and burns, he was a true masochist at heart and he wasn’t afraid to show it. The man put his stub of a cigarette out on his wrist without a wince.

I will swallow you whole.

The man’s bones cracked as he walked. He held his head high and blew smoke at the sky.

I am Jack’s unforgivable guilt. I cover everything in a thick haze.

The man, Jack, worked at a small bar where he spent most of his days, even when he was off the clock.

I’ll sink into your bone marrow and poison your cells.

Jack was a man with few burdens, but the ones he had, he’d carry for life. He was a broken man; broken beyond repair.

I’ll sharpen your bones and watch you burst.

His skin was translucent and his bones were stained purple and blue. The man was a sea of veins and nerves. Everything was the enemy.

I am Jack’s mind; I am Jack’s distorted point of view.

But we all know who the real enemy is.

I am Jack; and I am a fucking monster.