Eternal
It is a night of blood, a song of sorrow,
wolves vent their howls. The thirsting one
awakes.
Darkness shrouds her pale form,
a timeless wanting.
Her midnight hair cascades over
fragile milk-white shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of new life,
I thirst.
YOU ARE READING
A Small Collection of Gothic Poetry
PoesíaSeriously, do I really need to explain it?
