She walked on the grass barefoot,
And it turned into Gold;
by her touch,
Now should I feel proud or pity?
or Should i sell the grass
and make money?
Was she a princess or a succubus?
That the grass lost it's original form
and became stiff,
Or was she a charmer that gave the sods a metallic whiff?

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They run for a pretty visage and not for heart
They weep blood when they are broken apart
They are the malice
They are the trouble
They are the desires, irresestible
Love them and you will fall
Worship them and they will make you crawl
Let them cry over their fake facade
Push them asunder and renunciate .

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The Succubus

Eyes pitch black,
Like the soul so dark,
Veiled within,
A Fair marred skin,
Fair as the souls,
She devour desirous,
Blood filled mouth,
Crave in drouth,
As she play the strings,
Of flawed fragile hearts,
Hearts made to love,
Hearts made for love,
Now voraciously bleed,
Through her thin parched reed,
As her ink runs dry,
Before her words could fly,
A jar of hearts,
Adore murky walls,
Yet she held only one,
One broken yet sewn,
Fallen,
From a place forgotten,
Like the leaves of Autumn,
From a soul rotten; trodden.

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Damsel in Vexation

She was the queen of masquerade,
A succubus in distress...

With beauty cloaking her malevolence,
She made every man kneel to his death...

She was a lady of paradox,
Her deeds conjured up by the ouija of her mind...

A broken angel trapped in a demon’s body,
In search of the perfect man...

Her eternal pursuit of passion ending fruitless,
As she failed to catch a glimpse of her soul within...

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