by Nick Gisburne
Of all the brides of Bathory, her tastes
Are more than mere carnivory describes.
When flesh is flayed alive she only wastes
A fraction of the fluids she imbibes.
To peel a man, from screaming head to foot,
Is quite the demonstration of finesse.
Aroused, she glides with elegance to put
The victim’s clutching hands upon her dress.
Delirious, she helps him rip away
The sacramental vestments of her vice,
And, opening his throat, a steaming spray
Of crimson is the final, fatal price.
To sate the carnal hunger of her needs,
With ravenous depravity, she feeds.
