Pestiferous her prose,
Drawing one in throes,
Of unsuspecting necrose,
As terrified, he froze.

Grim and savage ways,
Cut his skin like blades,
Butter, was he made,
On painful sweet crusade.

Venom-leaking smile,
Such homicidal style,
Thirsty and fertile,
Beautiful, yet vile.

Oh the corpses sing,
Of her lucious sting,
Miserly and stringed,
With all the wretched things.




Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 13th of Haernos, in the year 495 MA.