A candle in her hand,
She stares at the mirror,
Her face, exquisite,
But for the shadows under her eyes,
Her pale skin incandescent
Against her midnight hair.
Her lips, tender,
But dry.
Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Plagued by thoughts wicked,
She lies awake all night -
His body limp,
His scent on her tongue,
Her lips on his throat,
His taste her delight.
Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Her being a mere sculpture,
Bereft of life,
The cold one
They call her,
She laughs for it's true.
The day he left, she died.
It's not his blood she thirsts for.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment