Delighting Demon
I sit on her chest, silent yet screaming
Into the night,
Songs of distress and terror.
Her purity is tinted,
If just for the night,
By the fear that radiates,
Black as pitch,
And permeates the night.
That fear,
One and the same,
Feeds my hunger,
As I drink it in,
And lick my lips lustily,
Tasting her thoughts of sin.
She lies limp, yet muscles taut,
As I weigh down her soul,
In its time of freedom.
Her mind cannot wander,
And is stuck instead,
In the roiling nightmare of her own head.
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Delighting Demon
PoetChloe Leach
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Stuck in My Head
PoetChloe Leach