Cold Blood Runs

***This is Kind of a Poem Based on Jack The Ripper, so I guess it is a type of tribute***

Blood trickling from her neck...
Drip, drip down her shoulders toward her wrist...then it hangs on to the tip of finger.

Like a lifeless whore...needing her meaningless sex and drugs.

It falls down, lets go...Splat.
Trickle, drip, drip, holding, Splat.
It goes on over and over like the repetitive life of hers.
Sex, Drugs, Sex, Drugs, Sex---Death.

Cold Blood runs through his veins as he moves onto the next one, the taste of grapes lingering on his last victims cold, blue lips. She lay in the street with the moon reflecting off her dark crimson blood.

Cold Blood Runs through his veins as he knocks on her door. This is his last victim for the night, but she will be worth his while. A cold long death awaits her.
She wants her pay...willing to give up herself, for anything.
Anything to buy drugs. But she will travel through a new path of Ecstasy tonight.

A cold, crimson stream of death, and a slight memory of temptatious grapes linger on her tongue.