The Vampire Poem by Paige Nielsen

sinful
decadent
shameful
that’s what they call it
the kind of life we lead
sleeping in the arid barrenness of day
dreaming behind blackout curtains
dreaming of—blood?
awake, deviants of the night
for Mistress Moon has rose
the stars are airily twinkling
over smog, graffiti, arson, crime
this city never sleeps
awake, O dark and suave denizens
chained to eternity
come and feast
on the necks of beautiful men and shapely women
in dark alleys we wait
to lure, stalk, pounce, rejoice
flecks of red nectar
splatter from our eversopointed canines
drip in streams, rivulets down our chins
oh! for our sins, the taste is delicate
so delightful, so irresistibly sweet
we drink of this, no one will miss
urchin beauties scavenging the dirty streets
emaciated artists searching for their inspiration
in disreputable motels
the city is undead, like us, it cares not for the living
as told by the droplets of encrusted blood on every motel’s walls
she herself is one of us, casting a veil of shadow for us,
so that we may give unto ourselves, the hunt, the feast
a selfish race, we
The Vampire