Way of my soul || Poetry

XLVI. shapeshifter

My blood boils, I watch in
doom
When he cooly strides across the room

With his chin held high he carries himself in pure and poise
a whole different person, way of speaking and voice

His clothes, his shoes, his watch and manners
A nasrcissississt in disguise, only his dignity that ever matters

Fooling the world as the shapeshifter he is
devil of the demons, within his presence hell fire will hiss

There are sirens in the beat of his heart
He will crush you and tear you apart

Only those who ever looked into his eyes will know
And see the malevolence through and through

It is said the eyes are a reflection of ones spirit
Fixated on the ground are his eyes of a sinner and befit