Bathed in Ichor

Bathed in the ichor,

dripping from the Gods.

Poisoned and sicker,

yet grinning, I nod.

Pour me no Nectar,

I have quaffed my fill.

Nor wine mixed with Myrrh.

Neither cures my ill.

Ambrosia? No.

Nor that Mana-meal.

God-vampire, I go,

starved, I drink to feel.

© CGT, 2017.

Talk to me.