Sweet the breath which whispers death
across her alabaster neck.
These lips grown cold at cost of preternatural life,
where now...burn hot in moistly parted prayer against that skin so tender.
Shadow Rider in black...I am death's harbinger.
And yet she welcomes this pale herald with naked, poignant eyes and gently falling breath.
Pulse by heated pulse she lures me into her full being.
The warmth of her promise consumed beneath a touch as numb as the grave.
Her quintessence binds me in the volatile darkness of unholy union;
with naught a sliver smile of hate to betray the mask of this ungentle conception.
She is helpless. The willing fool of a rouge demon.
A necessary sacrifice upon the altar of my wanton existence.
Temptress by nature and still I wear the guilt of a reluctant innocent.
Salvation...as intangible as an ephemeral thought in moonlight madness.
The perpetual prowl of a homeless soul finds but temporary shelter in a hunger lived.
And I offer no excuses for my existence.
For Sin exists only in an imagined world where rules taint the freedom of my savagery...
my carnality...my brutality of passion.
And I offer no apologies for my existence.
I am the remnants of a mortal coil now moldering in boned ice.
I am the sleeper awakened to the banishment from the Garden of Lost Eden found.
I am the orchestra darkly that ushers in the music from a stage of crimson kisses.
Forsaken, I shall find rebirth through a symphony of death.