Burnt by cold fire
from a witch who steals hearts
She sinks her nails in
and claws out the beating love
Her fangs reflect the pale moon,
as she devours another soul
Blood drips down her chin,
and onto mother nature's face
A pool of blood,
like the pupil of the all seeing eye
She steps on it with her black boots
and howls at the moon
Burnt
to a crisp
by her cold fire
Alive no longer,
but something stirring,
something stronger…
I have fangs too,
you damn witch,
and I am a man
with a black hole for a soul–
thanks to you
I’m a dangerous beast
A coward ready to be unleashed
A hyena backed into a corner
A scorpion behind bedroom eyes
A weaver of stories and lies
and I hardly try.
There’s no end to the pettiness of a soulless,
hopeless,
malicious
man
The Scorpion vs The Witch,
what a fight we could have.
We could sell tickets
and give the masses
another distraction
to distract them
from their distractions
They love a good fight,
especially
one with love,
blood,
and a cold fire.
They’ll scream and cheer,
as we rip each other apart.
Then,
after we’ve gotten in our licks,
and let the madness of the crowd rage,
we’ll piece each other
together.
-C.H.
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