In the dusk of my dim-lit abode,
Whispered secrets in the night bestowed,
A tale so fraught with silent fear,
Of she who lies, yet draws so near.
My love, a visage fair and sweet,
With eyes that once did mine entreat,
Now carry shadows deep and cold,
Where once a story of warmth was told.
By candlelight her form appears,
A gentle grace, bespoke of years,
Yet closer in the light's faint throes,
A visage shifts, the darkness knows.
Her skin, once soft as early dawn,
Now holds a sheen unnaturally drawn.
Like moonlit marble, cold and sleek,
Hiding the horror, the truth I seek.
Each night when stars in sky are cast,
Her silhouette against the vast,
Does twist and tremble, a ghastly play,
Of something old, worn, and fey.
A voice like hers, yet tinged with ice,
Speaks not of love, but a chilling splice,
Of lives once lived, and souls ensnared,
In the hollows where demons dared.
One night I followed her silent cries,
To where the dark did well disguise,
The horrors that her flesh did mask,
Beneath the beauty was a ghastly task.
In moonlight's pallor, I finally saw,
The creeping dread, the gaping maw,
A creature donned in love's sweet skin,
Feasting on the warmth within.
Oh, wretched heart, be still this night,
For love has cloaked a grisly sight.
She is not mine, nor ever was,
But a specter in what once she does.
Now I wander through life’s grim hall,
Haunted by love’s deceptive call.
For she who sleeps beneath my roof,
Wears a mask that's living proof.
Beware, ye lovers, of the heart’s sweet snare,
For what wears love may well strip bare,
The soul of its joy, the heart of its beat,
Leaving nothing but shadows and deceit.