Costumed in whispering shadows
Painted with the white radiance of the moon
The vampires stalk the night.
With silent footfalls and
Diminished cloak rustles,
The haunt the somber streets.
Skin softer than bleached satin,
Hands colder than frigid snow
They stroke the cheeks of their prey
The wide, frantic eyes reflect back
The beauty of the placid vampic faces.
Bared fangs sink into supple flesh,
And screams are drowned out
By mere murmurs of satisfaction.
Having exhausted the supply of life's blood,
They drop the limp cadavers and move on.
View User's Journal
The Road To Nowhere
 |
