The Pen and The Wind

The writings and musings of a windswept soul.
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One night a succubus did take flight, 
To feast on souls of men,
To trade them their very lives,
For the most fantastic of all deaths.

She did descend upon one man,
A philosopher, his sole trade,
With mind as vast and wide as the heavens, 
He was still a slave to his baser nature.

Signed in blood a contract was formed,
That he would relinquish his very soul,
"When he was truly satisfied,"
And not a moment before.

Thus their night of passion began,
She blew his mind as thoroughly as she blew him,
With the sweet agony lasting for hours on end,
Until their bodies were on the verge of collapse.

But when she tried to collect his soul,
She found that she could not, 
For the Philosopher began to muse,
If the pleasure was really satisfaction.

This continued on for years at a time,
Because he could never know satisfaction’s truth,
And all while he tried to explore this,
The Succubus was a slave to his every whim.

She was released after he died, 
Years gone just for one soul,
And if you should learn from this tale, let it be, 
Never make contracts with Succubi,
Or Philosophers for that matter. 

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