the vampire

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  • Fantasy

    the vampire

    prowling through the night
    looking for a victim
    with wonderful tasting blood
    and a fearless heart
    he sees me in my beauty
    and is drawn to my body
    with a hopeless grin
    he does not know he is mine
    i draw him into my hiding place
    and he inches ever closer
    and the smell of his blood
    drives me half insane  with hunger
    i pull him closer to me
    and bare my pearl white fangs
    they sink into his neck
    and he moans in pleasure
    his blood is so delicious
    i cannot control myself any longer
    i suck it out of his body as ge inches toward death
    and realize that it was a wonderful choice for my first kill
    the sun is coming and now i must sleep.

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    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    emokid’s Poems (55)

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