the siren calls out in the night,

her rubber flesh red and golden,

masked with a slick sheen of slime and

bladed teeth stained yellow.

her ragged hair is silk and smooth and

she sings.

she sings 

with her righteous soul,

voice as clear as the moon above.

she sings

like all is well,

a healthy lunch waiting

inside that floating beast.

she sings,

holding her head above the water,

sinking her claws deep

into the beasts thick splintering pelt, 

the sound of its wails and

the cries of its parasites

is a melody to her own ears.

it is not a struggle, to meet the top,

to see the stars with the caking flames

in her face.

they fear her, just as she hungers for them

the blood red and hot between her fingers, 

the scent of their panic latent in the air

as the scramble and run in circles.

they are stuck on top of their tamed beast,

and she knows it. just as they know it.