Choking in you clothes.
Tight; pretty as a tiger rose.
Wild claws, sharp point needle feet
Slightly reddened, in light of
Blood dead moon; resting on a
Salt grain littered sky
Hurry up n' drink the glass throne pond
Squander its delusion sup
Quickly now fresh prey is nearing
From unnatural light clearing
From the songs of the throng.

Your claws deep in;
Drawing his tin blood
All the wealth, of
Disease potential
Your groans of
Victory.
At the peak of flesh;
Lust referential.

Night; pretty in absence Of days clothes.
Glares darkness through home
Windows.
You prey is consumed withered
And fallen, twisted to a whim.
From snake to worm, birth
Blood stolen from him.
your Tiger rose left him
Sleeping in weakness.
Now hunger freed
Back to the daylight
Life you lead.

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