Blood red lips,
and a broken lip stick case,
she's lost control,
devouring the weak.
The femme fatale scene has been played out before,
but she manages to flip it on its dick.
She's the needle hovering over the disc,
gently spraying her pheromone,
making you hot,
until you're too soft to stand.
Her calling card is a cigarette stain,
lingering in a hot pink ash tray.
Punch drunk,
you'll never see her coming,
till she obliterates your mind,
never once initiating skin on skin.
Run, don't walk,
she's headed your way.
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