Young Writers Society

Tongue pressed to cheek.
Lips pursed, eyes stitched shut.
Attention focused on facade.
Silent. Oblivious. Obvious.

Dangerous curves insinuating lust, passion.
A serpent in disguise. Lips like morphine.
A needle in the vein.
Dangerous. Sheathed. Shallow.

Golden hair running down golden skin.
Fools gold for the confused, the blind.
Fingers crossed behind her back.
Your smile stretched upon your lips.
Unknowing. Hopeful. Helpless.

Enchanting rituals of the skin.
Your tongue dancing behind your lips.
Her fangs unsheathed, her claws at the ready.
Tearing into your heart, your soul.
Claiming you as prey.
Vengeful. Sinful. Sinister.

Your hands quake as I ache.
Reaching before the fall.
Fingertips touching, skin dancing, sparks flying.
Free falling into the abyss.
Sorrowful. Lost. Longing.

The scent of honey, poisoned and corrupt.
Concealed is the metallic and maroon.
The blood that filled your veins fills your hands.
My hands in yours.
Broken. Wanting. Woeful.

Your head is turned.
Her lipstick smudged, hair tangled.
Your eyes somber, my hand on your shoulder.
Whispered words from foul lips.
Faulty. Wretched. Wry.

Cruelty comes with illusion.
Love comes with truth.
Pain comes with knowing.
Blindness from oblivion.