Under the blood moon, he's fed by shadows in the night.
Flames dancing in a fervent fire circle,
athame as your guide,
the witch's hour approaches.
All will be clear as the haunts of your past
take flight.
Awaiting your master, your blood weeps,
a sacrifice,
in ceremonial offering upon the altar.
He's coming.
You can feel your life force being drained,
delicately.
A virgin, All Hallow's Eve,
surrendering yourself to his divinity,
allow him to cradle your body,
to place his ardent lips
upon your neck.
Your life force slowly dissipating,
you become wholly entranced in
his ritual.
The site of the stars in his vermilion
eyes becomes your last
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