Music from an open window down the street.
She emerges from the dark house with disheveled hair. her cherry kiss lip gloss smeared onto her cheek, avoiding her mouth as if in the midst of an elaborate escape plan never completed. refuses to be lapped up by the soft pink monster resting at the bottom of the dark cave behind the teeth.
The monster who lies bleeding from tiny puncture wounds on its slippery, venous underbelly.
rivulets of black liquid drip down her face and stain her barely-there virgin-white baby tee. She doesn't realize it but the tears are running from her. their escape plan, considerably less complicated than that of the lip lacquer, succeeds.
Her underwear is still clutched tightly in her shaking hand as she walks disjointedly down the dimly-lit sidewalk. She cannot grasp what has happened, so the blame is taken out on her soiled undergarments crumpled within her balled fist. She always preferred the tangible over its opposite, anyway.
Why did he do this to her? did he not love her? all these questions spill from her abused mind in unison with the tears from her eyes. liquid, black, confusion.
Her yellow and white thong sandals slap softly on the cracked cement as she pads slowly along. Why, why, why, slap, no, no, no, slap! She reaches up to wipe away the black lines of salty disillusionment with her free hand. Black spread everywhere like a plague. The plague that seizes her heart in its sharp, emaciated talons and squeezes tightly.
She sniffs to clear her button nose and sighs to clear her mind. both operations fail. Her only accomplishment is the involuntary blanching of her knuckles as her panties are squeezed tighter and tighter, pressed into the palm of her hand until they disappear.
Suddenly she stops. the wind washes over her small body and ruffles her sheer pink skirt, a newborn flower swaying in the spring breeze. She lifts her aching head as if catching the scent of her impending doom. no, not her doom. her salvation. my cologne.
She turns her baby-doll face in my direction and fixes her eyes on my silhouetted figure beneath the street lamp.

I smile.

She does not see but she feels.

She dips down from the curb and makes her way into the street, toward me.

She is mine. I take her into my arms when she is near enough.

I Have her Completely!
Mine, soft brown curls.
Mine, deep almond eyes.
Mine, smeared cherry lipstick.
Mine, honey tanned skin, soft as a rose petal and smelling just as sweet.
Mine, innocent blood.
Mine, corpse in my arms...

it`s been a long lonely time.

The song ends... time to move on.

I Have her Completely! ~ from my NEW Album ~ Thirsty!

#vampire #Lestat #rockstar

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