She licks up her plate as her feast is a delight
the opaqueness and dim lighting of the room makes her feel as if she's at home; seeking the night.
She has cut his flesh and drank the forbidden blood
its value was precious, not like any filthy mud.
Her instinct didn't leave one drop
it was like she was growing him in her garden, a tasteful, delicious, crop.
The eyelashes that stuck out of her face batted at not once but twice
her fingers put on a spell on this man and has twisted his mind into a splice.
His screams lingered across the echoing corridor and he would hitch his breath; a call he would use to sign "I dont want to strive"
she laughed, gagging her head back in pure demonic trace as she went down on to him and didn't leave a second to go by when she decided to dive.
A persona so mortal yet an epitome
I watched the entire show through the window, horrified, and knew that this was gonna be a lifetime scar for me as I have witnessed and dared to see.
I looked down at my now bleeding hand
my body is trembling, oh no! I am turning into quick sand!
My eyes rushed to find this wicked woman in view
she was staring dead in my tracks and that was when I knew it was my cue.
I fell onto the grass and she lured me in
she placed me on the table and laughed to herself, "time for din-din!"
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Murmurs
Poetry❁ Freedom is allowing the crisp air to guide you through this forest we can call society. ❁
