Laughing merely at the decadence the dim lights hide more than blemishes as the audience is hidden from the footlights view.
The catacombs are our common ground.
So easily we are lost in the depths so beyond a simplistic facades comprehension.
Backrooms allure purchased pleasures temptations.
A tease in a red-lights hue.
A bitten lips trickle of blood the essence of this lifeless form.
Her body’s rhythm enchanting even to the near death experience.
A lifeless form she inhales the decay to expel the venom that is desired yet never contained.
She lays with dead as many call it necromancy.
As she simply refers to it as a relationship.
The music fades, her body's perfume delicious as I so thirst to be buried alive.
JPR, is a southern gothic writer his work has been published in Horror Sleaze Trash, Punk Noir Magazine, Distrub The Universe, Piker Press, Spill The Words Press, Sava Press, The Dope Fiend Daily and Fixator Press.
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