The Midnight Hours. II.

The midnight hours call to me.
Whispers heavy with the seductive weight of promise.
They sink claws into my spine and pull,
taunting, insistent, magnetic.
Luring me in with the indomitable thrill of the hunt.
Beckoning inexorable and enticing.
My heart beating the tattoo of war drums,
a primal homage to the warriors of old,
Gladiator and lion alike and I wonder
if I too
am to one day

be the hunted.

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