Your brutal ways are cloaked in ‘luring form.
Mascara: coy, yet fearsome facial flair.
With grace you sit, aloof above my dorm,
indiff’rent if I even know you’re there.
You could descend upon me any day
and I would scarcely have a chance to flee;
or you might choose to flirt with other prey
and nary give another thought of me.
Then suddenly I scurry to my hole,
and see that you’ve impaled some other soul.

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