Blood lust. Lust
A thirst so strong it weakens my pull.
Awake I am stolen,
Hunting the fallen,
Scrambling for the few who may not know yet what I do.
Beneath skin a heart pulses
Liquorice lines and sweet cherry vines,
I’d pay pity for your tomorrow
So hang the wicked and catch the lunes,
You can’t lift the weight of lead balloons.