Her legs weren't stairways to heaven, for these ladders were anything but safe.
Pulled fibres collected unsuspecting Victims to be caught upon her wondering lusts.
For the best poison was that which took time to ****. And her bite was anything but fast acting upon her prey.
She never charged as much as those who were below her class. For she was scorned before.
And those who chose her beauty over instinct, only had themselves to blame.
For her man, was a walker of corners, catching eyes of cheap thrills. His gift to her was a ring and a death sentence of A.I.D.S..
And now she passes the gift given without consent, to those who would choose a vine vintage soured by gangrene grapes. They'll all taste her sweetness, only to poisoned by its taste after swallowing it.