Under the skin, something poisonous.
Like an acid flowing,
as if from the Alien monster.
Watch out for the dribbling!

Often now, there are thoughts that reflect
that menacing countenance.
A wrestling match
(With an Angel, or Devil?)

Tenderness, not likened with love,
Pain’s manifest in the body glove.
Sore to the touch, no matter where.
Could be from cooking to medium rare.

The chef is the spirit
that wallows in sorrow,
and all need to fear it,
’cause it swallows Tomorrow.