Good begone

Look at that boy, you can see it in his face.
Abuse, drugs, lack of sleep.
He stares into a void
Blackness adorns his body.
Milky some call him.
His skin is so pale.
Those empty eyes set so deep in.
The twin scars on his wrist.
No smile he smiles,
But a simple grin,
Which drives people away
With terror.
Those incisors aren't normal,
Longer and sharper they seem.
His gaze of nothing is broken
As he looked at me,
And I realize
He's like my reflection.
That fanged grin appears.
It's easy he sees
We are one-together, blood brothers.
I feel my lips rise, head dipping
To one nod.
We get up together and leave the room.
Silently to the forest, the secret spot.
There others swell, respecting us for our kind.
We creep down into the cavern
And play the game.
When I awoke, they were all gone,
But he stayed, grinning down to me.
I was officially gone.
A few whispers were spoken,
Then we whipped out the daggers.
He crawled over me.
I was already naked.
I felt the cold blade run through my flesh...
The blood trickle down...
And the hot breath.
This lasted for hours, and when it we were done...
The scars hid themselves.
No one knew what was done.
The next day we see the fear in their eyes.
A joy it brings.
We pick out a victim
And drag them away, to replenish our life.
Then we come out, again as a secret.
Returning to our spots, we gaze into nothing.

It's easy to tell, in his face
A broken boy, drugs and lack of sleep.
It's easy to tell, in his face...
I am the same, I am his reflection
He lacks.

No longer pure,
No longer clean.
Darkness we live
Now good...
Begone.