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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Supernatural · #1589549
Beware! Not all is what it seems in the clarity of light. (Form: Couplets)
Fiendish Delight

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You see them on the stroll, apparitions of the night.
You hear stories of their demons and the unwary's plight.
"Ladies of the evening" they're called by the polite.
Beware! Not all is what it seems in the clarity of light.

Her pale beauty was alluring. The darkness was her cover.
Her true nature hidden deep, no one would discover
until it was too late and no matter how they fought,
the horror of the truth was always their last thought.

There was no escaping the confines of her lair.
With guile and sensuality she would trap him there.
Seductively she'd undress and reveal the prize
that no one could resist as she would hypnotize
him into submission; a victim that was willing
to believe that is was passion while she was busy killing.

She'd take him in her arms with a seeming tenderness
and lull him with her innocence before she would confess
how her compulsion was for oral play... she'd start with just a kiss
that would continue downward while he'd enjoy the bliss.

She'd trace the veins and arteries, sing with the music of the blood,
and lay her head upon his chest and feel the heart's strong thud.
Then a coldness would creep in her eyes as she finally gave in
to the growing hunger and with a smile, her lips would thin
revealing fangs and razor teeth. She'd tie the victim down
and begin her feeding as the cries began to drown
in the blood that flowed and pooled within his throat.
She'd stand above the body and begin to gloat.

The terror of the victim seemed to energize
her sadistic nature. You could see it in her eyes
as talon-like her nails would rend the flesh in strips;
a thousand lines of pain from the neck down to the hips.

With long strokes of her tongue, she'd taste of the flayed flesh
and with each whimper heard, she would feel refreshed
until at last she'd move – forced by the coming light –
to sink her fangs deep in his throat with a final bite.

With a pleasure borne of need, she would slowly drain
the life from his quaking body -- drop by drop, pain by pain.
With her blood lust quelled, she would once more bare her lips
and with surgical precision remove his fingertips.

The next day the corpse would be found, no headline would it rate.
No one would ever know the victim or his final fate.
Another unsolved mystery; soon interest will abate ...

At evening dark a voice whispers, "Looking for a date?"


An entry for "Invalid Item
Prompt: Supernatural

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