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Hotel Transylvania Bleu...

As he checked into the hotel
The famous Transylvania Bleu
He noticed a face he'd seen before
In the mirror that's facing you

She looked hauntingly familiar
She stared into his eyes
He stared right back at her
With no small surprise

Six foot four and muscles
He had a kind of rugged look
He supposed the lady enamored
And he signed into the book

He turned to scan the crowd
She was nowhere to be found
Then right there at his elbow
When he turned back around

Pale skin and deep green eyes
A beauty, in her right
Red hair and great proportions
She was a lovely sight

She remarked upon his name
"Hmmmm, Killer, is it not?"
He said; Yes, it is, sweet Miss
And your name is what?

She spoke flawless English
A French accented drawl
Miss Pussy-cat to you, she said
"I'd be delighted if you'd call"

She handed him a card
Black and edged with gold
"I'm in town for the festival
I hope I'm not too bold?"

Not at all, Mademoiselle
I really like your style
I would love to see you later
Keep your company a while

And so they met at midnight hour
Spent the night together
They talked until the dawn came
But it wasn't about the weather

She was a chef, she told him
Killer said me too!
She said she had a recipe
It seems; "Just made for you"

Killer felt a little funny
His knees were somewhat weak
She asked him what was wrong
He tried, but couldn't speak

She was genuinely distressed
Muttered about a spell
Something about it wrong
Said; "I thought he was from Hell"

Killer lurched away
He was feeling sick
His headache was a'pounding
His stomach feeling kicked

Sir Gee was figuring it out
"She tried to take your soul"
She wanted to make you hers
I think evil is her goal

But her spell just makes you sick
It has the opposite effect
It will pass by shortly
Put a cold towel on your neck

She doesn't realize
That you aren't an evil guy
You only kill the bad ones
And that is truly why

She will just move on
Try to take another
We have to stop her now
Let's get busy brother

We know a couple of people
That can surely fix
A witch that tried to hurt you
We'll show her some new tricks

They went to Old Man Digit
Asked about Ms. Pussycat
Digit and The Sparrow
Knew where she hung her hat

A little Bistro-Restaurant
She did the cooking there
She was on tonight and working
With her tied up long, red hair

They waited 'till she served them
Killer leaned into her space
Said I'd like to see you again
You should have seen her face!

She said; "But of course,
I think that would be grand"
Killer smiled at her and winked
Then bent to kiss her hand

The table set and music played
Sweet and soft and low
The dishes covered and wine poured
The candles all aglow

Killer made the best of dishes
His famous scrambled brains
A liver fried with onions
Butt roast, make you go insane

Killer's cooking was so awesome
She relaxed and drank the wine
A bit too full and slightly torpid
Oh, she's feeling fine!

Next thing she knows, she's gagged and bound
Wide eyed, she tries to yell
But the gag is tightly tied
And there's no one she can tell

Music plays, the kitchen's bright
There is a steamy kettle-pot
Knives laid out like instruments
And even naked, she is hot

Strapped to the table, she is twisting
No bindings that are loose
Killer sings some nursery rhyme
About a plucked and baking goose

Her screams echo off the walls
Even muffled by the gag
When her fingers chopped away
And put into a bag

Killer's face is smiling broadly
His eyes so bright and blue
The music keeps playing loud
He sings; This meal is all about you"

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
This was supposed to be The Halloween poem, but somehow, got lost in the process.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Ate this one right up, Geezer. Hm. I wonder if Killer was lactose intolerant. A glass of milk is always welcome with a cookie!

Cheers, Mister


. like my lost dreams...the flood

and he loves iced oatmeal-raisin cookies! Thanks for stopping by, Killer is looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner.~ Geez.

Writing purely for oneself, is the ultimate in defensive posture.

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