What am I?
What beauty do these dying, falling,
Red, burning leaves have for me?
Can i make the mistake of lying,
Under the stars, worries destroyed?
Or am I doomed to be a ruby blue killer,
The leaves falling like snow around my soft form?

I am what you see,
Ruby blue lips pressed against the flesh,
Of my kill.
If you can see me,
Then am I really invisible to you?
Or am I a dead man's lover?
A widow, of sorts?

If you can see,
The sun shining,
Do you feel scared?
Hunted?
For I am a predator,
Wild and free.
I am Smilodon