Stalking pray with practiced skill he moves through shadow.
Tonight’s meal will not come easy; It must be pried from unwilling hands.
With all his skill he approaches, looking up into human eyes he reflects back all the love he’s sent. One thought in mind; Food.
Others may kill to eat but here each meal is served with broken hearts.
Suggestion of a warm embrace, tempting on the coldest night,
Eyes that say, “I’ll fade away” torture all in sight.
And if, by chance, his slaves deny the meal that’s rightly his,
He’ll raise his voice and scratch at doors, until his food appears.