A mind’s eye is a Minds Eye and though I may seem impotent in certain facilities I am coherent enough to understand a concept as base as this. Why others do not seems to boggle and vex me in ways not understandable to myself…as though I am above the evolution of the others. Though not all, I do have a few who fallow suit. But not enough and this it’s self seems to vex me even more…like I’m waiting for the remainder of humanity to catch up with myself...
My heart beats a rhythm I wait for someone to hear and understand so that they may love me. It beats wine at the current moment and maybe Lady Sovereign as it right…because some love me and some hate me but they are all obsessed in some way. I’m the Rubik’s Cube everyone wants to finish. Not bragging as I do not understand this myself. Find myself giving them sideways glances as they reach and paw for my attention – labs after the approval of masters proving to be false gods...
The tangy sweetness cascades along the tongue and down the throat reaching in due process the organ it’s fixated upon, and teasing in its sweetness, delicate flavors prance upon budded muscle. How sweet and ingratiating the scent of blood… I wish for it even as none comes. Nothing ever tasted as sweet and delicate as life’s liquid, whispering the sweet sins of the owner upon the tongue and losing itself deep inside uncovering angles to the soul itself that even the carrier knows not. Magick is potent in these silent touches. Burning and hot, an alluring combination, to one so hungry and deprived. I’m pawing at that source, though I know nothing will come from it; pumping in vein from a well that as long since run dry. In agony I howl for one who will let me lap at the blood pool their heart creates for me. Lone a millennium, this queer wolf-cat hybrid – emulsions of vampire spun throughout bright and cascading in an eternal symphony as potent as the pull of the poles to migrating animals… Silently she waits, in utter agonizing anticipation of what may be — what could be if only one were there to be white to her black, angel to her demon, god to her lucifer… She waits hungrily starved for the one who will come, fangs bared in a snarl cruel enough to terrorize the monsters in the darkest minds of the soulless – the one who comes will find an aphrodisiac in them and happily plunge into the maw of razored wolvesteeth.
Running silently over snow crusted hills she hunted, searching for that elusive one who consistently evaded her. She would prevail – even her prey knew this, and its heart beat thirty to the dozen, a sharp gallop in comparison to her own. She knew the time was nearing and her fangs elongated in her mouth cutting her pouty human lips until she kneeled to her fours and sifted to the form the moon compelled her into…
