No more numbers
These cries into the night
Unheard gunshots
And fatal consequences
That drowned out the light

A mind so broken
Pieces apart on the floor
Another statistic
Lost away
And all we ever do
Is watch the blood poor

I once was kidnapped by Dracula,
He took me to his castle in Transylvania,
Which, by the way, is in Romania,
In case you didn’t know.
He chained me to the wall,
Slapped me, cutting me with his claws,
Before he decided to withdraw,
And sit on his throne.
I said,
“I think there’s a misunderstanding between us.
This bad blood isn’t anything serious,
Sure, I was wrong for being too envious,
But, please, don’t do anything heinous.
I’ll apologize,
Just spare my life,
Is this quarrel worth a fight?
Let’s rationalize instead.”
Dracula laughed,
Lightning cracked,
Followed by a thunderclap,
As if the world were terrified.
He walked over and held my face,
Squeezing it tightly, causing me pain,
He smiled, showing off his bloodied fangs.
I started to cry.
He said,
“You think this is just bad blood,
Like when a loving couple breaks up?
You’re tempting me with that smell of strawberry,
And I’m fighting the urge to feed on your blood.
This isn’t some game you play,
You said some awful things,
But when I bite back, you claim an attack,
And suddenly I’m the one who’s deranged?”
He laughed,
I didn’t talk back.
He was right, I was wrong,
I had been all along.
And now I was face to face,
With the monster I created, due to my mistakes.

i knock on the door
my knuckles raw and bleeding
only to find
i did not survive the weeding

the blood drips from my fingers
meets the blood on his palm
i hear the voice that whispers
behold- here i am

You staggered through the double doors,
a trail of red on bleached-out floors.
The night was humming, wet and mean,
your busted life in Trauma Green.

I clamped your vein, soft as thread,
and dared the gods to count their dead.
You lay there broken, no ID,
just blood and ache and urgency.

Your heart fell quiet
inside my hand,
as if it paused to understand.
Then breath returned in stuttered moans.
your chest arched up to meet my own.

The wound was sealed.
Your sigh came slow.
You could have left.
You didn’t, though.
The sweat still clung.
Your gaze went slack.
You pulled the gown and turned your back.

I saw you later, checkout nine:
frozen dinners, boxed red wine.
You seemed like someone death forgot,
barely awake, missing the plot.

You looked right through. You didn’t know
the hands that pulled you from below.
You don’t remember. I can’t forget
how thin the stitch, how deep the debt.