The Temptress, The Siren, The Witch Poem by Seth Proch

The name of her street is called Malice,
A corridore barren and cold,
The houses all boarded and empty,
Pavement all broken and old.

She beckons to me from her window,
I'm fearful to answer her call,
The pathways are worn and uneven,
And cause men to stumble and fall.

Promise of love in her chambers,
But death is the way to her home,
I've travelled to her times before now,
Found it's better to just be alone.