He watches. He waits. He stalks. He hesitates. His prey. His game. His fun. His lay. His victim. His lust. His thirst. No trust. The time is well past dusk. The quench. The urge. His breakfast. His lunch. His dinner and dessert. He desires. The hunt. The charade. The thrill. The pursuit. The sport. The need. The play. The fill. The darkness of the night. His existence. The shadows. He stays. He goes. He waits. He knows. The vitality. He sees. He breathes. He is somber. He is secret. He digresses. He progresses. He is black. He is red. He is white. He is the night. It is wild. It is like playtime for a child. He must be patient. He must follow. He is there. Or is he not? It was the wind. It was not him. A move. A sift. He breathes. It lifts. The imagination. The fear. He feeds. The tears. He is fast. He is swift. He is here. He was never there to begin with. The hunger. The pain. The vein. No shame. The scent of fright. He is one with no light. They run. He follows. His lips taste. They find no sorrow. His teeth. They endure. They bite. They fight. They take delight in what is to come for sure. It is sick. So he licks. And he sucks. Blood is life. And life is blood. Now their corpses find no luck. They had no chance. In this number. With him they had to dance. His rhythm. His pace. His style. No grace. A beat. A heart. It stops. It drops. It lacks a luster. It lacks a shine. Tonight, he has dined. A cadaver. A undead. What once was living is still moving instead. His touch brings death. The blood on his tongue. Stains heavily like a dark crimson lead. It is over. It is done. He has fed. He has had little fun. He is gone. He was not there. Another body. Lying in the middle of nowhere. A life no longer remains. Another is now sustained. A mystery. A murder. A innocent that has died. A forbidding lurker. Haunting within your mind. Let it be. Dare you decide. Or leave it as just another sick homicide?
Did ya like it???
Did ya hate it???
 iZahlzeit · Mon Oct 20, 2008 @ 10:04pm · 6 Comments |
