“Vampire”

Oh, c’mon! You know me and you didn’t expect a vampire poem eventually?

Fanged debauch,
cunning trickster,
whom draws the very breath
of birth
— life —
from its helpless victim
after victim.

That
which does not see the difference
between the rich and the poor,
the good and evil;
at a glance, its lazy glare
only registering
warm-blooded or cold.

A thirst which cannot be quenched,
throat screaming
with delicious agony;
hands that cannot be warmed
by campfire light, or steam;
two eyes drowning in red,
blazing eternal anger,
filled to the chilled skin
with the blood and breath of its prey.

— the life of a romanticized vampire.

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