Expand this piece...

falls down
gets up
light is her nightmare
She's difficult
different
fearful
and no one dares cross her

Expanding your piece - - -

She's sensual,
Alright,
And more, much more.

She is
Absolutely arousing;
Amazingly and amusingly amoral;
Rawly, raunchily, ribaldly, risque;
Passionately, pruriently, pornographic;
Lascivious, loose and lustfully, lewd;
Astoundingly and amazingly, animalistic;
Even breathtakingly, bawdy;
Delightfully, debauched;
Untamed, sleazily, orgiastically, amorous;
Wantonly, erotically, stimulating, sexual.

And,
She is,
Enjoyably, entertainingly,
Gratifyingly, pleasingly,
Satisfyingly,
Mine.

alive
but dead on the inside

she presses rewind
on the tape and disperses
your will and love

her kisses are murderous
and her fangs embrace
your neck as she murders your
distance to Death's arms

she adores your alarm
and your discontent
broken hearts and malnutrition

Cries wine
Drinks blood
Tears keep her alive
She’s sensual
Morbid
Lethal
An assassin
Cold without conscience
To find the vermin
That cut
Her bloodline
In the cesspools
She wanders
Through the broken souls
Condemned to languish
In a world of despair
Like death incarnate
She hacks and
Dismembers without prejudice
Resolute in the notion
That she will be successful

T’was a bloody drink to please hell.

We’d fucked in his pentagram,    
With candles at the points,    
Her head to one,    
Each hand to another,    
And a foot each to the last two,    
I was on top,    
Spread to match her,    
My mouth to hers,    
My fingers interlocked hers,    
My feet inside hers,    
Her legs wrapped around mine,    
And my cock deep inside her cunt.    
   
We’ d fucked to the strokes of the cathedral tower clock.    
   
It had started easy enough.    
Six o’clock, six strokes,    
Ordinary simultaneous orgasm.    
   
We laid there,    
Me inside her,    
No words,    
Waiting until the next,    
Hour’s strike.    
   
At seven, it was seven strokes,    
And an orgasm.    
   
Then eight.    
   
And nine the time after that.    
   
Ten was a tough one,    
She’d started to dry,    
I was getting raw,    
But still we had,    
Concurrent orgasmic,    
Ejaculations and contractions.    
   
Eleven,    
Physically hurt,    
Both of us,    
She in her cunt,    
And the stiffness in her arms and legs,    
Still matched to the pentagrams points,    
And me in my cock,    
And balls,    
And, the cramps in my arms,    
My legs throbbed.    
   
Twelve was to be the end.    
   
In that fraction of time before the clock stuck,    
I realized I was no longer,    
In control of my body,    
But an observer,    
Along for the ride.    
   
With the first strike,    
My arms wrapped around her,    
My teeth bit into her lips,    
Her hands from their splayed points,    
Whipped against me,    
Stabbing her finger nails,    
As talons driven in to my back,    
Just as my cock spiked,    
Deeply into her cunt,    
Nailing her against the ground.    
The dry raw friction of withdrawing,    
Drew screams of agony,    
From both of us.    
   
My onset of violence toward her,    
Her acceptance of those attacks,    
Her onslaught of brutality toward me,    
And my consent to that barrage,    
It was clear,    
That as I was but an observer,    
So, too, was she.    
   
The second strike of the hour,    
Brought a thrust clocked in horror,    
Her nails gouged furrows of blood down my back.    
As mine were trying to rip, peal the skin from hers.    
   
Came the third,    
It was more of the same,    
Save, only,    
That the force of my penetration,    
Drove the breath from her body,    
In a horrifying,    
Exhale,    
Of breath, blood and vomit,    
Into my face,    
Where it dripped back down onto    
Her breasts.    
   
And so for the fourth.    
As my hands and fingers,    
Tore at her butt, her ass,    
As did hers,    
Bloodily,    
Explore mine,    
My cock,    
Drove, Ripped,    
Into her cunt,    
Which seemed to welcome,    
The violence of my penetrations.    
   
The fifth found her teeth,    
Clamped on my tongue,    
Trying to grind their way through,    
Blood flowed from my mouth,    
Ran, dripped on her face,    
Ran past her ears,    
To pool under her head,    
While I drove my cock,    
Into her cunt with force,    
That shook my tongue from between her teeth,    
And ground my pelvis against hers,    
To rip the hair from her groin.    
   
On the sixth strike,    
Somehow,    
Her body was on top of mine,    
She slammed her hips down,    
Driving my cock up, into her,    
So far that my balls were pounded,    
Near mashed against her,    
As if they were trying to gain entry,    
Into her cunt along side my cock.    
An erotic pain such as I had never experienced,    
Flowed through my body,    
As I saw the erotic pleasure in her face as,    
Her nails clawed their way from my back to my front,    
And gouges ran with blood from my chin,    
To my groin.    
   
As the seventh struck,    
I reached up,    
Grabbed her breasts,    
Squeezed with enough force to,    
Nearly rip them from her chest,    
Used them to pulled myself up from the ground,    
Now sitting,    
With her on my lap,    
I feed her nipples into my mouth,    
Bit forcefully into them,    
Causing a scream that must have,    
Curdled the very black of the night,    
Drawing blood,    
Which ran down her body,    
Soaking,    
And providing a kind of,    
Grisly lubricant,    
For the grinding of her body,    
Against mine,    
My cock within her cunt.    
   
With the eighth,    
I pushed forward from sitting to,    
Driving her back against the ground,    
Where her legs wrapped around my hips,    
And somehow her nails found,    
A home driving into my butt cheeks,    
The pain of which,    
Added considerable force to the,    
Bruising rampage of my cock’s,    
Powering, drilling, and grinding,    
Into her cunt.    
   
As the controlling force,    
Withdrew me from her,    
In preparation for the ninth strike of the clock,    
My hips,    
Wrapped with her legs,    
Lifted her hips from the no longer white,    
But bloody red silk sheet under us,    
And on the clock strike,    
Stuck forcefully downward,    
Inward,    
Causing pain she showed,    
With her back arching so far upward,    
I thought I heard bones crack in protest,    
So that only the top of her bent back head,    
And the flesh of her butt cheeks,    
Mashed against the ground,    
Supported her,    
As an exhale,    
Of spend breath,    
Escape from her mouth,    
In a groan,    
That seem both a cry of tortured agony,    
And a release of pent-up,    
Suppressed,    
Perverted pleasure.    
   
At the moment of the eleventh strike of the clock,    
Her back’s arch,    
Reversed,    
Her legs remained wrapped around my hips,    
I was nearly standing,    
Bent over at the waist,    
Grabbing again for her breasts,    
My mouth straining for hers,    
Her pelvis,    
Was presented in a perfect,    
Alignment,    
For my downward plunge,    
Which came with surprising,    
Deliberate slowness,    
As my balls swelled, tingled, twitched,    
Pulled up against the base of my cock,    
And her cunt began to tighten, squeeze,    
Constrict around me,    
So that it was with some effort,    
That I finished plunging into her,    
And began to withdraw,    
Completely from her.    
   
As the head of my cock,    
Remained just barely within the lips of her cunt,    
Time seemed to pause,    
The force controlling my body,    
Caused,    
My eyes to stare into hers,    
Vacant of her,    
Containing, instead,    
The force that controlled her body.    
Her bloody lips,    
Smiled,    
My head bent to bring my also blooded lips,    
And bitten swollen tongue,    
To hers,    
As the 12th clock stroke began —    
And started an orgasm,    
Of such length,    
Of such whole body involvement,    
Of such profoundness,    
Such that with each of several,    
Moments long ejaculation,    
Her milking contractions,    
Seemed to expel, extract from my body,    
Some of my,    
Life’s essence,    
Into her body.    
   
When next I became aware,    
It was with the striking of the clock,    
Six strikes,    
As her eyes opened,    
It was her looking back at me,    
I rolled,    
Stiffly off of her,    
Caked with dried blood everywhere,    
Some blood still wet where it had been,    
Trapped between our bodies.    
I was sitting beside her,    
As she sat up,    
Touched a finger to some of the blood,    
And pressed it to my mouth,    
So that I could lick it,    
Drink it from her finger,    
And then, in turn,    
I wet my finger with some of the remaining still wet blood,    
And provided it to her,    
To suck from my finger,    
To drink,    
And, following, to lick from her lips.    
   
It was with that drink,    
She clasp her stomach,    
Bent over,    
Retching,    
Then straighten,    
And spoke,    
   
“I’m pregnant”.

sexy eyes
long blond hair
tattoo of thorns
on her spine
Sexual by nature
kills her prey
in a hypnotic way
her teeth sharp
double blade
lays naked
on the walls
of my picture frame

 Blood Spider

Her red-hot figurine
rampant with the hang of it
an obsessive appetite for it-
   stenchy fluid-reds
Effervesces beauty
 in her drawing atmospheres
to leach out vessels
 drinks blood to that pleasing drip
crocodile tear she wears poignant
 cries wine feigning fragility
   and to make believe,
     “tears keep her alive”
She’s sensual…her veil
being hardcore devil,
  morbid and lethal


wordcount:59

Comprehending Beauty in Pain

there is no eerie silence
solitude is forever broken
by gobbling cries of anguish
through the grilled window

as red as old wine
her wounds stand out
like reluctant stigmata
in her mind’s palms

she drinks the wine
of her story of conviction
the splash of baby’s blood
like sacred communions

she remembers his soft throat
yielding delicately under her knife
her lover’s mistress son
all of five years old

Tears keep her alive
Such hatred for him
transfers into his son
his loin’s sinfully begotten

Facing the jury
looking at her in fury
she knows she's sensual
in her red mini skirt

she gobbles in morbid laughter
as she sits alone in her cell
all gone now, she screams
laughing through her tears

they call her Lethal…
she believes they are mistaken
she is just a beautiful
woman, wronged.

~muse of her~

The blood
Dripped
From her gruesome face
I drink it as if it were wine
Her life left tears aLive
As lethal as it gets
I loved her
I loved her blood
It was morbid not to stop

Beautiful all the time
This heart
It broke
My tears now drive
The stake
Her heart
Now the same as mine
Silent
Cold
Veil still on her face
I've lost
My bride
To the devil's cold embrace

The countess
 she's lethal
when she cries wine
but the tears keep her alive
in an odd morbid way

and she's sensual
when she nicks my neck
with her fingernail
and drinks blood
while she kisses it

She fakes her own French accent
Cultivating her prey
She will destroy you
Manipulate
I would say
Nasty
Bitch

A weapon of mass destruction
With class,
Jokes,
And seduction

She likes cries in the night
But loves the victims that fights
Succubus,
No
Classy vampire
Beware her taste
And the bars you go by

Wine spills from her sleeping ducts
Sticking out her thigh is a sewn in cross
And in her beauty love is cruel and stained
She fears no pain, for when it rains she preys

It's no longer her blood being spilt,
That face will never wilt to a frown
Tears keep her from falling
So theyll never find her down

She stands tall in her frock so sleek but drenched
in red wine and downs 2 bottles of your blood as she dines
While she weeps her way to sleep she knows the world is on the mend
For youve no hate to fear and no tears to cry