Shoot the bird in the foot
Let the sin drip down your chin
You've downed your prey
And held them at bay.
Now sink your fangs into flesh and blood
And pierce the veins
With their flowing crimson.
The mess before you
Feathers strewn about
Clean and white and dotted with red.
Doesn't their fear astound you
The beating of a heart in their breast
Dark eye does dart around
And nails scratch for any grip.
Don't you tear into them more
And revel at the meal?
The way their screams part from their lips
Like an innocent bird
What have they done to deserve this?
Mortal bones break
Mortal flesh tears
Mortal blood does weep.
Does the crimson not shine in the light
Like an expensive wine in a fantasy's delight?
It's blue inside
Not red.
It's white
Not red.
The flesh falling away from the bone
With phalanges exposed to the cold night air.
I saw it happen,
When you peeled the skin away
The layer of white like that of a peeled apple
being prepared for a pie.
When you pierced the cheek with your sharp white points.
When your lips graced the curve of the neck and suckled until crimson spilled.
The velvety black inside your mouth,
Corrupted with the scarlet red
of fresh blood from the vein in which it came.
Does it not bother you?
When you dismantle your prey as though you are a bird of the night
And them a sleepy songbird wishing for a roost?
Hunger.
It must burden you so
To blink when a heart beats and roars
And to hold back the tempest inside
Lest you expose your most private secret in front of the crowds.
How I wish it does so.
Forever.
May you never feel the joy of taking the lives of them all at once.
May you cower in the darkness
And hide within the deepest shadows
Not because the sunlight burns,
No, because the men will hunt you and make your kind known as they sharpen their wooden spears.
And none of you will be safe again.
Bleed your bird
Drain your victim
They are perhaps helpless alone
But the cluster of many is the terror you shall know, forevermore.
I'm sure it sounds like a ****** poem about nothing more than blood. No. It's about watching those who are self-destructive. Or those monsters that DON'T live under your bed. The people that do their best to ruin everything good within their own life... And for those that struggle with it. You can do better. You are capable of growth and expansion.
In the poem, a vampire struggles with internal conflict. He knows he's the problem, but he can't stop. Is it a metaphor for addiction? Maybe. Is it a metaphor for narcissistic behavior? Maybe. Is it a metaphor for those of you who are wracked with internal conflict of any sort? Maybe. Self destructive behavior? Maybe. The list goes on... The questions are... What do YOU get out of it? What hard truths do you need to uncover about yourself?... Or do you simply need to get away from a toxic family member?
