Degenerate

These words spewed like vomit from his yellow toothed maw as breath, caustic and deadly constrict the passage of sanity from the minds of those around him. He lives in a deep stagnant tarn of refuse, half ignorance, half blinded misguided passion, if passion can be called such a thing at all. I see as his victim writhes finally free of his razor sharp tendrils, as he has rendered her immobile and her dreams and ambition trampled. Yet in small limping steps she claws away. One bloody step at a time.