He comes up to me
almost like he's stalking prey.
His movements sleek and smooth,
as he strides to my body.
I stand next to it,
not paying attention to the broken form.
I should be scared.
I should be screaming.
I should be doing anything else than watch him approach.
But I can't find it in me to do so.
So I stand in my warm blood,
crack my bones back into place,
and stare into his eyes
as he leans down to say,
"I have been waiting for you."
YOU ARE READING
When The Blood Ran Black
PoetryWhen my demon decided it wanted out, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I could only watch as bloodied claws pierced my skin and shadows leaked through my eyes in black teardrops. It wanted out, and I was content to let it roam. >>>&g...
