Scarred!

Through death I found life! The Foureyed Poet.

The Foureyed Poet

Her scarred wrist is what I noticed first

looking so petrified and frail.

Going in because I had a real thirst

with a complexion so pale.

On impulse went up to her and spoke

not wanting to provoke.

  • Timid I thought she cowered at my voice

moving back very shaken.

Feeling in this busy place I had no choice

was my attraction mistaken.

Turning to leave on my arm a cold touch

wanting to say so much.

  • A brightness came into her mood

as we talked a little more.

From then on I had no time to brood

being the start of the gore.

Shocked to find this was a vampires lair

my friends to were unaware!

  • Why I had no fear of her I’ll never know

there was a connection.

The other vampires drained my mates very slow

in my arm I felt an injection.

It was her fangs…

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Published in: on 01/05/2015 at 21:48  Leave a Comment  

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