words

Pools of black

‘I am death’ he whispered and her eyes widened then a smirk appeared,
How could she like that,
Want to be seduced by the darkness that masqueraded as a lively thing?
Think that its palms were soft and warm when all it brought was a chilling cold touch,
To let that lust for crimson lure her into the endless abyss with false whispers of what it offered was better than anything exotic?
How could she delude herself into wanting to be hugged close by those deceiving arms that would squeeze the life out of her slowly?
To float in a bed of black silk that would turn thorny once your weak?
Devour you in a hungry haste as it tries to quench its thirst for a soul?
How could she say she found death alluring?
How she say she found death beautiful?
A black mass of endless blindness?
What sweetness dripped from it that could be warm?
What words would death utter to convince you that its dungeon was a place to dwell?

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