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The Fallen
To remember my past lives is to bathe in regret. To live is a word I cannot bear to ponder. There is no future but blood stained pillows of my feasts that keep my undead body awake. Like plucking a rose from the bush without regard for the thorns piercing my flesh. The pain of knowing I had a life, combined with the insatiable appetite for young, pale, warm female flesh. My Canines rip past her perfumed neck, as my tongue laps up her life. Restraint is not an option as she gives permission. A permission I have stolen through the magic of my voice in her ear. As the past festers in my thoughts, my future is bleak. Oblivion cannot have me, for I am cursed. Cursed to walk without a Soul. Something that was taken from me, as punishment for my Sins....
© Dale A Martinez
© Dale A Martinez
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