by Nick Gisburne
A wasted drop, a single splash of blood
Is all she leaves as witness on the waves
Depravity, that savage, frenzied flood
Compels her soul to slither from the caves
With every crimson murder, every crime
She wallows in the well of humankind
Her first is lost, forgotten, choked by time
A memory too faded now to find
She preys upon the people of the shore
Upon the fools who linger, unaware
The feast. The fever. Always there is more
She tastes the sweetest shiver of despair
What drives her lust, her longing, few can tell
A shadow from the spiteful seas of Hell
