Home » morbid poetry.i cant help it; poe inspires me. » Hεя ทα๓ε ïร Dεαтн

Hεя ทα๓ε ïร Dεαтн

Death pounded in his ears incessantly, beating her montonous rhythm as she sipped on her victim’s life. Its delicious thickness wrapped around her tongue and down her throat. He laid at her feet, staring unseeingly, yet knowingly, at the clawed feet that didn’t match the pretty pink face above him.She had been the weak once, until she chose an evil type of life. This, she offered to him, by offering her bloody wrist. He winced, and turned his head from the intoxicating red wine, refusing the life of a να๓ρïяε .

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