Walking. Stalking. I cannot be seen.
Slinking mutely along the rust of pebble paths.
I see her so clearly; but she cannot see me,
Her mind inclined to steal their steamy youth away.
So who is this girl? With those soft brown eyes,
Hair in length - billow, like the seas of defiance.
Skin so alive in the tenderness of lies.
A dress of magenta. The fluids of colour in her lips.
The lust of poison in her toxin kiss.
She opens the door. Takes a step to his bed.
Sees a man perspiring, in longing for her brush.
Lustful drips of sweat, trickle from his head;
Mislead youth ready to be captured in the blind,
And Never a single doubt crosses her mind.
She softly runs her hands down his back,
The sylph is ready to become one with her prey,
And lashes him to the posts prier her cloying attack;
While he has no perception of what's in store,
Of the maddened mayhem he let through his door.
Poised in her claws is a knife of her wrath.
Seductively sweeping from his pubic bone.
One SLASH!
TWO SLASH!!!
Cerise blood seeps through his flesh.
Two volatile slits in the chest of a man,
Who became the victim of God's nauseous plan.
So here I am. The bones of the night,
Entwining the souls with my hollow jet guise,
Gently guiding him into shimmering light.
I see his fighting the tears of Gods passion for death,
Because for the murdered...
There never comes rest.
And there she goes. The sweet woman of pain.
Obsessed with sex - the killer of a mans weakness.
And I can guarantee that I'll see her again;
Maybe tomorrow, maybe tonight if her thirst is still high in fright.
There she goes. The woman of death.
So consumed by the ashing path of her own loneliness.
