Leech

I could drink from your soul
And still be thirsty.
I wish to feed to my fill,
From every fluid ounce
Of your being.
And long to thrive, on your ashes,
Dipped in the melt of the mighty bones
Smothered with earthen dust,
And still wet,
From the night rains.

In the lustful desire for the perilous,
I aim at revival.
In the sweet pleasure of revenge
I regain faith. In the dearth of senility
I heckle, endlessly.

And amidst the derisive snigger
I forget to notice,
The leech is at his job-
And amidst all mirth
I bleed,
Profuse.