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Running through the forest,

The scent the only thing on my mind,

I race toward the kill,

Something I wish to find.



The bitterness of blood,

The sweetness of sweat,

The rush of adrenaline,

Fresh, rigor hasn't set.



I feel the death and victory,

Not my kill, but still full of pride,

The dead is what I claim,

The wind is what I ride.



To feel her life flee,

Into her flesh my teeth sink,

I sign away my soul to the "Devil,"

With her blood as the ink.



The glorious dead cannot touch me,

The pitiful living wish they could,

Yet I am in between, and if I'd

Like, take their lives I would.

COMMENTS

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8Akhkharu8
21:24 Mar 01 2010

i like it hun

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