The Hunt

Hear the screaming in the night
     Make it burn, make it bleed
Gasping lungs are tight with fright
     Burning thirst, fraught with greed

Sprinting through thick underbrush
     Hunt it well, chase it fast
Terror-stricken in her rush
     Closing in, shrink the gap

Suddenly her foot was caught
    Grab it now, taste it quick
Down into the moistened rot
     Flowing blood, warm and slick

Ice cold hands and colder breath
     As it stills, quench the thirst
Lulled her softly into death
    Deep fang wounds, hail the hearse