That vampire,
she will absorb your virtue,
strip you of sentiments and priorities,
until your prayers are nefarious.

That vampire,
she will violate your dreams,
in which you, fickle heart, become your own demon,
as she uses your own hands to lay on herself.

That vampire,
under her, the most earthly love is ethereal.
As your terror turns you from her,
your escape is deliberately slow.

That vampire,
as you peer past the mist of the mirror,
you notice that there will be no murder in her bed,
only death by misadventure.

That vampire,
how you will bleed so mortally when she is gone,
but in her presence you shall whisper,
“Mistress, kill me slowly.”


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