The Undead Past [a poem]

By Laura Fox | Featured Contributor She sleeps Beneath a stone With pallid lips sealed tight. But when come shades of night Then forth, alone, She creeps.  Her wan And ghastly frame Should, ages since, be dust – Yet, after death, she must, Despite the same, Live on.  She bleeds My throbbing veins, Imbibing greedily Their red vitality. As my strength wanes, She feeds.  Helpless, I can’t resist This blight consuming me: Each […]

The Undead Past [a poem]

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