Liquefying Gothic Bells

Pictures of Victorian dresses are stained in black,
Watch as the cathedral crumbles.
Towers imploding,
Those bells shall no longer peal,
They are melting away,
Causing a scalding cascade of rain.
Red and blue stained glass shatters,
As window pictures of saints splinter,
The sound shrieks like a wounded animal,
While the shards disperse into the street from above.
I watch in triumph as the unholy place falls,
It burns my people so,
And I observe as it damages the offspring of those who brought it to be.
The drops of melted copper and splinters of glass caress my flesh,
And I scream in ecstasy,
Torturing those who perceive the sound.
The moon illustrates my bleeding and ashen face,
And I smile upon her.
She gives us our hours of night,
The raptured darkness,
Which is our blanket and our immortality,
Hiding us from blind mortal eyes,
As we hunt for blood.
The sun is our tormentor,
Casting his rays so that it burns in an unpleasant way,
Unlike melted metal,
And fire.
In his light,
He allows the seraphim to walk upon our soil,
Casting God's light,
To make our flesh fester and antagonizingly slay us.
They hunt us as we hunt mortals.
By the human blood on my hands,
I mark the ground with the vampire's symbol, our symbol...
A bleeding rose,
Smearing it on the bleeding corpses,
Scattered and pierced by glass,
Crushed by pieces of a dead church.
The ones alive,
I the ones alive I drink from,
So sweet is the blood of those in terror.
Why do these people come here,
When the discord is so obvious?
Do they not hear the anguish?
It all screams out,
Soaking into the night sky,
No one comes to rescue them,
The seraphim have before,
Why is it that I do not see them now?
Has He deserted them?
But, I know,
They seldom show their faces to mortals,
Even in their worst agony,
When even their fingernails bleed,
They only hover above them and wait for them to die,
And guide them.
Yet, they do not help them in their torment.
My people do not receive such a gift in parting,
We shall be annihilated,
Not forgotten,
But not even in hell,
It shall be so if we die,
But the fresh screams take me away from my misery,
Oh, if only they could be here,
They would feel the hot blood coursing through them,
And find bliss in the slaughter of such a disgusting place,
The death and drinking of so many worthless humans,
They shall be proud.
The last piece falls,
Then the base crumbles,
Being blown away by rough winds,
Stroking my cheeks,
Hurtling at mortals,
Shooting holes in their skulls,
Making eyes bleed,
Causing them to scream and choke.
I take one last whiff of fresh blood and mutilated flesh,
Listening hard to the rumbling shrieks and whimpers.
Gone are the bells,
The cathedral,
Almost useless lives.
Then I turn and walk back,
To speak of my magnificence in the devastation of the ugly cathedral.
Now it begins to rain,
Sweeping away the blood and dead flesh,
Drowning the cries of those who suffered the slaying of the church.
Blood is streaming down my face and I am happy.