A mystery woman named Mystery,
So suspenseful yet so majestic.
A damsel in distress she was,
Who keeps it all to herself.
Pale as the snow that fell one evening,
An evening where I had met her.
Her luscious red lips,
Her black painted finger tips,
And her wavy dark hair has intrigued me.
Her eyes were so mesmerizing,
But so lovely as they were frightening.
Her smile was rare when she showed it,
But her laugh was much too sinister.
Yet I had an urge to sound it more.
A sudden lust I felt for her,
Once she had been flirtatious.
What her motive was,
I'll never know,
But her love making surely was bodacious.
The rapid lust was frightening to me,
As it became an untreatable addiction.
Once lust had turned to love,
I knew it was a bad contradiction.
Once she felt that feeling for me,
She couldn't help it much longer.
She rose from the bed,
Her hands on her head,
Crying,
Wishing that she had lived stronger.
Amazed at what I had witnessed this instant,
I felt a sudden chill.
Her body glowed like Christmas Eve,
And then I started to feel ill.
I don't quite remember,
what happened post chill,
But skeptical I seem to be.
As I woke up with a slight aching head,
My memory was somewhat fuzzy.
