A silver-tongued devil
Lays cold in my palm
He's thirsty for blood
And I'm a servant to his needs
I press his mouth
Against my skin
And his teeth rip it open
The blood starts small
In tiny drops
But soon develop into streams
Streams to pools upon the floor
But still the creature
Thirsts for more
My hands are shaking
Vision blurring and blind
The thing is happy now
As I collaspe to the ground
And fade into nothingness.
