rabbitzman

Nothing new on the novel front, I seem to be slacking a bit. Here's a poem instead:

This is my beast,
This is my monster.
Fueled by hatred,
Drugs and testosterone.
Soft talking, predating,
He's smiling, he's waiting.

This is my monster,
This is my passion.
These are not words,
These were my actions.
So go ahead, leave, run,
get away, while you still can.

This is my passion,
This is my beast.
Your body is my temple,
Your blood is my feast.
Trust me, for me you are not,
but a sacrifice, my slut.