In the dimness of her corpse, the walls glisten, rousing an appetite. I feast on the curve of her tender thigh. Each bite a confession, sinew and blood, rich and warm. Wrapping tendrils around her every thought, her worth is my plaything.
And what a pristine canvas she offers.
I whisper poison in her ears, crawling through every cracked crevice, her light slowly being snuffed out, sip by intoxicating sip.
I burrow deep- a vile dance, her pulse a symphony for my hunger.
Delicious weakness laced with desperation.
Wrapped in her stillness, I embrace my savagery. I rejoice at her brilliance waning under my grasp, the way she withers, my pitiful little thing, now a hollow husk.
Her spirit, now a trophy I wear, a testament to my grotesque devotion.
YOU ARE READING
Marionette
PoetryA poem about the devil, in his parasitic form, infecting a nun with sin. "Who needs love when you can devour?"
