Are there walls again?

A deadly boneless demon, an underwater thunderbolt,
A finely finned cousin of the slithering pot of poison,
Or maybe it was just me, I don’t remember anymore.

A set of inkless pens for canines,
The shiniest pair of scissors for a tongue,
Nails, a strip of staples.
A heart, dazzled by murders.

Freeing, to say the least,
It was to witness and commit,
The killings of the non-living,
Feeding on me from within.

But the deed is done.
The walls are built.
And,
I know you’ll say this isn’t right,
But don’t worry.
I’ll tear them down when it’s time.