The Taxidermist

I saw a silhouette of a man, standing in the rain. He had clearly nothing left to lose, nothing left to gain.
He spoke to me through tight pursed lips, with a rifle across his back, and knives on a belt that lay round his hips, all hilted with steel and sheathed in leather, black.
And he said:
“Pull those thoughts from your head, and store them in your chest, the ones that have meaning leave, do away with all the rest.
Because when I cut your heart free, and turn it inside out, I fear that I will see nothing but your pain, and all your old self doubt.
I need nought, but the purest hearts for my hearth, and I cannot abide by your fear, so raise your head, and force your eyes to see the ending clear:
We are all as lambs to the slaughter, as the lions of prey are watching, so do away with your flaws, and come gracefully… come gracefully… gracefully come… to to my claws.”
He pulled a thin hooked blade from his belt, and held it to my jaw, I stood there in acceptance, possibly with some form of awe.
And it was my turn to speak:
“I fear not your knife, or the ones I leave behind, I fear not the lions, or the beasts of your kind,
I fear not death itself, or the lovers lost in time, I dont fear much at all, not even my own fears of mine.
I do fear one thing however, that has cut into my mind and heart, determined to destroy both or whichever:
I fear me.
You are just as much a beast as me, its written on my eulogy and probably my grave, I refused to back down, and now I can’t be saved.
You fear of devils and beasts of night, I fear of angels, and what others see as right.
So you are not a beast, for my killing will be just, and as such, a lamb to the slaughter, I will die as I must.”
We stood there for a moment, the taxidermist and I. And that moment stretched to three, to four, until I lost track, of how many moments were passing, and relied rather on the times I glanced from his eyes to the knife, and then softly back.
Then he withdrew his arm, and stood, tall as he was, with his flinty eyes, and hands like claws.
He turned to leave but as he left I grabbed his hand and dragged him back.
“Who are you?” I inquired, attempting to hide the fear that he inspired.
Removing all pretence of a man of great strength, his cloak fell to the floor and I saw his spindly arms bore scars of great length.
At that moment he picked up his coat and left, and I realized who I was, even if a silhouette at best.

(IMAGE SOURCE: pumpkinseason.tumblr.com)
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So yeah, obviously a bit different from my normal writing. I kinda like it, it's not often I try poetry.
Anyways, feedback as always is welcome, Good or bad. Thank you all for the support! (Check out some of my other writing too, I would suggest starting with (https://steemit.com/writing/@ilovebatcatstew/the-musician). Cheers!