The moon bathed all in its effulgence, everything seemed grim
Under a desolate tree she sat, and patiently awaited him
Seconds matured to minutes, then an hour so soon
She glimpsed a shadow approaching by the pale light of the moon
The shade moved oddly, it seemed as though impelled
It drew ever nearer, until it's physiognomy she beheld
This was not her lover, Enoch is not so thin
His eyes are of the warmest blue, not as black as sin
The nose on this countenance, are just two slits
The mouth is almost not there, for it has no lips
With quavering voice she inquires as to whom the figure may be
"I am Enoch, remember, darling, you're bethrothed to me."
She would have laughed if not for the creeping tendrils of fear
"I said that I shall meet you here, did I not, my dear?"
She tries in vain to speak as ineffable terror embrace
A cold finger touches her cheek and slowly begins to trace
"Your milk white skin is so tender, it's oh so sweet.
I have always lusted after it, and all that's underneath"
"W-what are you? What do you want?", she manages to utter
"What I am is of no importance, what I want is you", his black eyes alight, thirsty heart aflutter
Ah despair, it takes hold, suddenly she begins to rue
Clearly she should have listened, this was the one to eschew
She crumbles completely, she begins to cry
A whisper, "Don't despair, love, you're only going to die"
A flash of wicked fangs, a nasty bite
Sweet Colleen knew, she's dying tonight
Her succulent flesh gives way, blood begins to seep
She feels nothing but rushing blood, as he drinks deep
She weakens, she wanes
He drinks, he drains
She sees no light, only darkness comes
She eagerly awaits it, as she softly succumbs.
©thechosenpessimist
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