Lamia. Hypodermic teeth, hollowed spikes draw adrenalin soaked blood. Soaked blood straight into the fiends brain. Anemic thought bubbles and reddens, boils until febrile dream of transsexual beauty and interlocking mouths in silhouette and saliva. Without bodily grammar, restriction, or need of design. The Vamps’ Cockfingers grow fat with desire and sense with their bellend nostrils the fecund and weak evacuating into wallets and down the backs of sofas. Their taut tendrils of shit strew across glass table tops, under which voyeurs are implanted. A heady scent. The Vampire aware of it, aware of the nectar issued by teethed vulva breaking out in swollen fruit beneath arms and in the groins of plague carriers.


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