Making Hate, Loving Death

My dearest love was absolutely insane.
Driven there in her life by a horrible pain.
She had no pulse.
She had no breath.
She infected me with liquid death.
She saw the future.
I saw only the past.
She made it clear we were made to last.
Her skin was cold.
She only felt pain.
Unlike in life, my death was untamed.
She made me wild.
She drove me to kill.
And forever for her I gladly will.
We are forever.
We are undead.
Her eyes and her body are stuck in my head.
The taste of her flesh.
The smell of fresh blood.
In the midst of all chaos is the time to make love.
She was undead.
I lived an unlife.
So she helped me feel more alive.
And I never felt more alive than when I was dead.

We liked teeth and chains and crosses and knives.
Blood and sex, in death we found life.
Fire and water both used to burn.
She never let me go till she finished her turn.
She was sadistic. She also like pain.
I was her toy. I was her plaything.
All hours of night.
All hours of day.
I was her toy.
And she loved to play.
We would have killed each other
If we weren't already dead.
But my favorite thing
Was the way she gave head.