a hungry thing

nails scrape the scute
hard diamond eyes
you love to get lost
and carry a necklace of hearts as souvenirs
they could never tell
those eyes never give away
the disarming weakness of your gait
and the trouble arises within their psyche
but you get through so well
and soon blood drops from your lips
down between your fingers
and staining the grass maroon
how disquieting it seems to the sun that gazes
while you shine a little too bright