Untitled 2

Steel glints in the flickering candlelight.
The sharp edge turning end on end.
Pressed against flesh and it slides.
A slight, but sharp intake of breath the only
sound to acknowledge any feeling at all.
Even that fades as crimson drops well
and break the surface.
Rivulets run down the skin as eyes watch, transfixed.
Tongue darts out to sweep them away,
only to pull back to savor the sweet metallic taste.
Mouth covers the seeping wound,
suckles life out to take it in again.
Nectar stains teeth, mouth, floor.
Droplets like rubies fall one by one.
Pain, nor pleasure, have any meaning here.
Numb. Still. Cold. As a statue. As marble.
And the cycle ends and begins anew.

Beautiful in a horrible kind of way.
(I hope you don't take offense to that... It's not sounding quite the way I want it to.)

Nia is one of the best writers that I have the pleasure of knowing. -hugs tight-


Also.... I will Gibbs-smack you, woman. I have the Greyhound website bookmarked. >.>

This is what comes from a very low state of being.

I take no offense, Lestat. I understand what you were trying to express quite well.

Aww, I am glad that you think so Erin. No need to hop the Greyhound, I'll just drive up. -laughs-

-cuddles all up- You know I totally would, though. For you. <3