Death of a Blood-sucker
Blood. Blood is my passion. Coppery taste. Warm. Smooth. Sweet.
Bittersweet. Fresh blood. Bright red. Fills my mouth. Stains my lips. My
life force. Needed. Sustaining. Nutrient, oxygen rich. Forever on my mind.
Lustful virgin blood. Innocent. Pure. Nieve. Sweeter now that it's been
tainted by the touch of my lips. Desperation. Need. Need. Need blood. More
and more. Razorblade. Alone. Slip it slowly across my artery. Drip. Drip.
Drip, drop. Into a faceted glass goblet. Only holder worthy. Drink. Drink.
More. Right out of my own body. More. More. Drink. Weak. More. Drink. Weak,
can't raise arm, no blood. No strength. Lick off my lips. Heavy eyelids.
Pain. In my eyes. Hitting me. Drink more. Blood. Dying. More. Dying. More.
More. Good-bye.