With pointy fangs and a nasty bite, my victims lie bloodless in plain sight.

I might be a face of a woman or man, A vessel for drinks that isn't a can, Making a scene for a crowd, or a lens, Or how a trip down a dark alleyway ends.

I am known for the boot, but I do not kick. You might slam me.

I share a name with one who has a strong hold. On treasures, coin, or papers old. When you’re at peace, I’m what you feel. Many think I’m an illusion, that Im not even real. What am I?

The fatter I get, the lighter I get, but don't let go of my leash or I'll escape far out of reach.