Spider vines that creep.
Under my skin, beneath the bone.
Touching you there, where I knew you’d feel something.
Underneath where the devil plays.
Where the intent whispers like a tongue on the breeze.
My witch’s familiar licks the blood from these fingers.
Sticky and sickly sweet.
Hunting you down.
Seeking revenge and reason for you turning my head.
And throbbing my blood.
With your idle care.
Now at the whim, of my idle hands.
Havoc and Consequence 