Born of HungerMature

There is a lonely man who, shadowed, stands alone

Atop a ruined rooftop of an aging church

While hovering with the faintest touch on rotten stone

Midst gusts of jealous air that jostle for his perch

So keenest eyes with sweetest stare complete his search.

 

With such the briefest step down through the air he sails -

A harsh descent of speed and rock against his face.

That stoney witch-god cracks her face: at him she wails,

For such a freedom of no sacred fortress-place,

But onwards down he flies to land with utmost grace.

 

For him that ancient gargoyle hag can offer nought -

Her last remains of beauty died; holy form too.

This wonder pure in female shape his relish sought:

That primal force - sheer attraction - dictates quite who,

Without his slight control they feed his hunger true.

 

His next partner: along the empty road she walks,

So gentle he relaxes in the dark and hides,

Her kindest step the ground does thank: for this he stalks

His pale-skinned prey, that at his touch apart divides;

A flood of blood from her erupts with pain in tides.

 

His own poison in every thought and tear does grow,

Her pure-bled heart, now drained, resides with nothing left,

With darkening eyes his liquorice taint begins to slow:

Hers blue to black - slow, painful change - how cruel a theft!

Her new being, for happier pasts she lies bereft.

 

But such sadness in her so short and swift remains,

To just a dying husk with fingers grip on life

To her memory as one of many gorgeous stains,

Such torment on the dirty streets of heavenly strife,

To humbly dine, the world does fear the sharpest knife.

 

Yet fevered groans and growls echo like hollow bells,

Enough his unchanging thirst had yet to devour,

For an unending torture deep in his heart dwells,

Oh such a quest to sate himself! Despite the hour

It rouses and ruptures his will for more power.

 

That demon of his screams and scratches his dark mind

Yet deep in his past, buried from his crimson nights,

Of a sharp and brutish smile that lies far behind

In a reddening bath and a feast of sheer frights,

To his ear, cracks of bones form the best of delights.

 

No beastly background does he own - much humbler still:

No dark, no fierce Gothic were there to birth this man.

Such change from gentle, kindly - to a devilish thrill!

From birth to death such proud respect from honoured clan,

Now this recluse, alone and wed to instinct's plan.

 

That day of such corrupting forces he replays,

Of jovial fun and bliss from his romantic gain,

A poisoned man with lips of fire and fear of days,

An unforgiven being his life all did drain

And maliced laugh to drown his ears yet never slain.

 

Now decades on his heart is lost to Evil's cloud.

Famished, he craves another feed: a garnished neck,

An exposed throat without a golden curl to shroud,

An army of his beauteous friends for him to peck

And kiss and take: each just another nibbled wreck!

 

This lonely man among his horde of women cute:

A hopeful morn lies far beyond that shimmered sky,

His saviour, never here, has sworn to remain mute,

So on through cities, coutries, Hell his feet do fly,

Forever cursed to kill yet not allowed to die.

The End

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