Her eyes sparkled, heart shaped lips so red,

Hair silky blond, corn silk down her back they said.

Body to die for, voice of velvet cream,

She was poison to the soul, every man’s dream.

 

At the motel just at the edge of town,

She hung about a street lamp.

Beams of moon glow filtered through her hair,

Yet from her fingertips blood dripped but no one was aware.

 

As the street lamp flickered, her form faded in and out,

Like an old movie worn and the voice crackled, instead of a shout.

Those nearby saw not the evil there within reach,

That is until the stroke of midnight, another morsel she would feed!

 

Beckoning the strangers to bid them a good time,

Hips ever so shapely like a valentine.

Her eyes would beckon them, drawing them near,

As she ran her fingers through their hair and whispered- do not fear.

 

As she dragged them out of the street lamp where darkness fell,

Eyes wide open, no longer a beauty, they saw pure hell!

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From the Origin of time many rise and fall like winter weeds, My identity could not be revealed by anyone, My identity could only be revealed if you know me well. There isn't any great mystery about me. What I do is glamorous and has an awful lot of white-hot attention placed on it. But the actual work requires the same discipline and passion as any job you love doing, be it as a very good pipe fitter or a highly creative artist.