I am the hush when the iron doors fall, the moon’s bleeding wound on the broken stone wall.
My latex is midnight, my choker pure sin,
it bites at my throat while the night crawls in.
You followed the crimson, you crawled through the snow,
you thought you could hide, but I tasted you hours ago.
I climb the black altar, boots planted wide,
spread for the moonlight that never has lied.
My tits spill like murder from latex so tight,
nipples like bullets that hunger for night.
The choker gleams wet, a promise, a threat,
each breath is a blade that you’ll never forget.
I arch for the saints who were shattered above,
their glass eyes rain scarlet on the body you love.
My pussy drips a river of heat down my thigh,
the cold tries to freeze it, the cold always lies.
I hold the pose perfect, a crucifix carved,
while your soul on its knees learns how to starve.
No chains for a queen who commands with a glance,
the cathedral itself keeps you locked in trance.
The moon is my collar, the snow is my blade,
and every heartbeat you waste is the price you’ve paid.
I stay spread in silence, I stay cruel and slow,
until your eyes bleed for the mercy I’ll never bestow.
Then I close like a coffin, turn back to the dark,
leave you hard in the nave with my name on your heart.
You’ll kneel till your knees crack, you’ll kneel till you break,
you’ll kneel till the crimson moon learns your mistake.
I’ll still be here spreading for no one but night,
forever untouched, forever your blight.
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