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Clouds drift slowly like soft tissues across the lonely cold face of the crying moon,
absorbing its golden tears and leaving the night painted in ebon darkness.
Darker still on Halloween, the ethereal shadows seem to solidify and come to life
taking labored breaths, pulsing and writhing, in the changing lamp light's starkness.

He is  the shadow, ancient as the contorted limbs on the twisted leafless trees that cast 
grotesque shadow puppet silhouettes against the canvas of the sky.  Need palpitating, 
he remains melted in the corner of the cemetery behind the church's old bell tower.
How long he has been here he can not remember, sitting and waiting, always waiting.

He hungers for emotion and savors each delectable morsel, anger and hate has a delicious taste, 
so creamy like freshly churned butter, but lust is his desire, his deepest craving 
and what he waits for this night, as he licks from his gnarled hands the sticky remnants 
of blood and doomed soul of his latest victim as he lay in the filth of the street raving.

Remaining hidden in his favorite haunt, the alley by the graveyard where few people pass,
only the most deviant come, muggers, murderers and ladies of the night, the ultimate chocolates.
The dulcet sound of epicene heels echo on the pavement near him, the beautiful vamp
her prey in tow, unaware she's on tonight's menu, moves into the shadows... as he waits.


10/05/15

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