What shrinks your heart, what shortens your pulse.
I'll never know for certain, the zombie qualities you possess are frightening, I should know, my brain has been one of your many snacks.
You have plenty of girlish characters to feed on, but my mentality is always saved for last.
I can't surpass the fact of all the malicious manipulation, you brought forth to this evil, little game of ours.
It's not fair. But most things in life are not equal, I should take you in as the living breathing symbol of that fact.
In fact, I don't think you're apart of the living dead at all. Monster you are, you have to walk with the night as well.
A bat that takes flight, and drinks whatever juicy organism it finds laying around.
Despicable, incapable of love, just always hungry for younger, younger, younger flesh.
Now that the children have awaken at yours and my ungodly hour, you can toy and fiddle with their parts.
You no longer need my fingers to stroke the fur of your luscious ego.
Cliche it may, but maybe you aren't the prick with fangs after all, the walking dead do not want you, so what's left, what has you?
A werewolf probably?
Mainly because of the tainted loyalty you leave me with each day. You sit on my lap, like the loving pup I wish you'd to be.
But when the moment strikes you, you're off again hunting for the next best pray.
The rays of the sun engulf me, you're off on top of another vacant body.
I don't know what you are. A monster yeah. But to classify you in any category would be underestimating your brutality, the way you smash up love, devotion, and feeling with your claws.
I hate the sight of you, but the cure to be rid of you, has yet to be found.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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