It was in her blood, and it was in her skin,
that neither of her parents were called human.
It was in her eyes, and it was in her hair,
darker than the New Moon, with elegant flair.
At birth she’d been left on an orphanage door.
She grew up alone with herself, and so poor
that when she first discovered her pedigree
she consumed a man whole, as she was hungry.
Things continued like that, as she grew, she fed,
seeing mankind as suckling pigs to be bled.
Man never guessed the truth, from her auburn skin,
never guessed she was a beast outside and in.
It was a blessing from her lovely parents,
who, to create her, combined their foul essence-
s into one surely human shaped vessel;
Where the world’s her mortar, and she’s the pestle.
Still, I’d say she’s not all that bad a being,
compared to posh brats who hoard snow for skiing,
who, on the world’s future, just aren’t agreeing,
and who ruin the world with their sightseeing.
A few more deaths of men is nothing to this;
One kills some men, one turns Earth into Abyss.