War is her first love, <br />And death is her mistress. <br />Sitting in fire and raping <br />What few flames dare to burn. <br />Licking at the wounds <br />Of the deadest of the dead, <br />Her veins are frozen <br />And her heart is made of ice. <br />Sipping on the blood of swine, <br />And slitting her wrists <br />Of the teeth of her father, <br />Her triumph is a messy one. <br /><br />Stefanie Fontker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/serial-lover/
