Black Widow

Love is a poor mans food
The bitter sweet taste of her sinful lips,
lure the bravest of men to their untimely end.
Yet, she remains an enigma to the world,
This muse,
a venus fly trap masked by the scent of her rose.
She needs not lift a finger,
the remains of her tainted being allow her prey to do all the work.
This eight legged widow has spun her lies,
now the soulless figure lays tattered, lifeless.
A rag doll forever bound by the chains of her web, a poetic ending to a brutal act.
The black widow has fed, and she will feed again.