A crooked plush face,
And a Mona Lisa smile,
Twenty seven stitches sitting,
And a passion for beguile.
A derogatory mind,
Within a roughly crafted head,
She'll be the only one around,
When all the other ones are dead.
A simple stabbing of the back,
With just a needle and a pin,
Will do the trick upon the tack,
And cast a seraphim within.
If you dare cast your eyes upon,
The lies she tries, she'll reel you close,
And if you want to keep your soul intact,
Beware of Mona's ghost.
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#nature. Scales of razors. Fangs of fright. Sinuous form. Eyes that invite. Your soul from your body. Your heart from you head. He slithers down tree trunk. upon your deathbed. Eyes like jewels.
Raven with her hand held high,. Dark poison in her cup,. "Drink my soul, for when I die,. You'll soon run out of luck!". Your talisman, your lucky charm,. A naive wench that held your arm,.
Just me. That's what you say. Just you. Just pretty lovely you. Sleep tight, And dream of times lost. Times of happiness. Dream of the love, the love that still lives. True love takes more to kill.
Far beyond the crescent moon, on par and present in her tomb, the dark priestess awakes, to spark teases in snakes. Her hair fair, and her eyes loom, perlescent glow in her iris gloom.
Figures flitting through flickering flames will tell Of tribal dances by a portal to Hell, Crumble, crackle, crash and call As the white wood brings you under heated spells.
@weirdwolf hope you don't mind your my muse today.
My mother always warned me Not to go near gypsy folk Such as her, but I could not ignore The strange old maid who spoke Of mystery and sorcery, All manner of ghoulish things Of which a young girl...
Lips so wide and tangled hair, Face holds her unnerving stare, Tipped white fangs and darting tongue, So very old, yet she seems young.
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