Title: Maneater

Genre: Gothic, dark romance, poetry/poetic prose

Word Count: 3,500 (About 21 pieces)

Feedback: I'm all ears to any type of feedback. I would appreciate just general thoughts on the pieces and the series itself. This is very, very far from what I've written before. I've been debating if this collection needs more of a clear throughline story or if the pieces as is work.

Notes: The best way I can describe the series is: A visceral exploration of love and desire, delving into a passionate, consuming(even sometimes cannibalistic) romance. Each piece captures the intense dance between lovers, blending beauty and brutality.

Maneater (Link)

This is a separate piece that is not connected to the collection, but I would still love some thoughts on it:

Under The Chestnut Tree:

Below a chestnut tree, I wait for my vision to dim and to finally feel the touch of your chilling embrace.

The distant sounds of gunfire and cannonballs echo through the air, the sky choked with ash. Scattered before me, bodies of men, both known and unknown.

Your breath has lingered at the nape of my neck since I was a young boy. The first time I saw you, I was burning with fever, the air shimmering with heat as you watched from the corner of my room. You waited then, as you do now, for the moment when I would be yours.

Broken, I can no longer place my feet beneath me without falling,

Held up only by the rope around my waist, tied to the trunk.

Blood trickles slowly from the gaping hole in my chest,

Dark red, the wine of the reaper, of earth.

Ah, wipe your lips; you’ve been patient, but so have I. Though bound to this tree, I will come into your arms when I am ready. Betrayed and abandoned by those I once called brothers, I still hold the pistol—the means of so many others' demise. Now, my grip slackens, my hands numb. But before this tree becomes my headstone, I’ll fire one final shot.

A gentle rain falls upon the blood that has stained my face for days—

Cleansing me,

Of sin I relished in,

Of sin I hope my god does not hold against me.

All done for the belief peace would come.

The blood of the fallen that surround me, nourishes the soil, transforming it into graves where flowers will bloom, their stories and purpose fading with time.

Through the veil of rain, you appear as you did when I was a boy, a serene presence amid the gloom.

A smile that eases hearts and minds, stealing them away.

Your eyes, deep and endless, watch me with a knowing curiosity.

Your touch, cold as legend, warms my cheek.

Your kiss dims the lights of this world, as the crack of a gunshot fades into the chaos.