The dreams come.
Shall I see the angels?
Perhaps the demons this night.
or Death itself.
Women all, each and every one a woman,
Beautiful, Sensuous, Ravenous, Captivating, Spellbinding,
Eager to grace me with her presence,
Thirsting for my soul.
It is the Demon Tribe that owns me this night
I am carried away in their arms.
I succumb, my head thrown back, my hair trailing in the biting wind,
Limp, naked, lifeless,