When the hunger comes,
And the day turns to night,
You must be fed,
Now that the time is right.

Hunter and hunted,
Rules still apply.
You are the hunter,
Mortals will die.

Stealthy and sure,
You own the night.
Feeding the hunger,
That burns deep and bright.

Your souless body
Burns like a pyre,
For the warm, soft flesh,
Of a throat...your desire!

Warm, rich blood...
Fresh from a kill,
Feeding the lust
That you must fulfill.

Sometimes, you toy,
With your victim, so sweet.
Mmmm...there's something erotic,
About teasing, your feast.

Your knowing smiles,
Set your victim at ease.
Little do they know
They will feed your disease.

POETRY TURNING ECLIPSE

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