Sitting round a camp-fire in the middle of a wood
I spied a dozen vampires eating treacle pud
Upon their bloodless heads they shrugged a ***** cowl
While pacing werewolves at their backs let forth an eerie howl

The setting moon was empty as was their heinous bellies
Before them lay uneaten heaps of pies and sweets and jellies
‘It is no good’, said one, ‘I am sick of this malaise.
What this pudding needs is a spot of Crème anglaise.’

We seem fall in love but never can seem to just stay
We try to give our all but only give the worst away
We try to convince everyone that we are totally sane
All the while hating the taste of hatred and blame
We shudder, sigh and moan so under the body of a lover
But we are feminine variety of a simple gypsy slaver
We are the ones in control, your body and your soul
We break stallions when they are but a gentle wee Foal
We gypsy girls  only charge one simple easy to pay toll
We want control, we want the control, we want all the control
Be yourself we won't change you, just make you want to change
We will kiss you softly to numb the pain while our sisters
With their needle like fangs litter your body with pale blisters
Blood thirst, the steamy way of seduction is our disarming tool
With the lack of blood flowing to your head, you become our fool
Your mind will weaken with a daily overdose of physical bliss
Together we are what the succubus of the night creates, huh, sis?

I never understood why
People say it's wrong
Why your kind and mine
Together, we don't belong
Because your a creature of night
And I'm a creature of day
Nocturnal shall I be
So forever yours will I stay

His eyes, they look at me, glamoring me into his lust
His touch, awakens all the senses I never knew I had
His breath, sending waves of electricity throughout my body
His smell, reminds me of the ocean, sweet, refreshing and calm
The deeper he goes, the deeper we go
With every movement, time seems to fade to black
The rhythms, like drums, like rain, like a heartbeat
Our hearts beat as one, the tension, builds up as one
And for a moment, just one moment
His eyes, they look at me with loving content
His touch, firmly takes a hold of me
His breath, he holds it as
His smell, it lingers in my senses
The explosions, like fireworks, like jolts of passion, like ******
Our hearts, beating as one, our passion, releasing as one
And for a moment, just one moment
His eyes, they look at me with disgust
His touch, is cold, it's lifeless
His breath, is ragged and shallow
His smell, is bitter and angry
And for a moment, just one moment
I don't feel dead anymore

What a ****** up and wicked place this can be
Dancing with life in the balance
They keep going, feeding, until the thirst is quenched
They need to fulfill the need, at the expense of others
No consideration, no thought just actions
Leaving a ripple in the fabric of time

It spirals outward, engulfing, swallowing purity
The darkness spreads
When will the light come
When will we see peace

The light that shines within is too strong
I can’t go down to that place
Isolation is a consequence
Alone, forever

Yes, it's another poem from my vampiric friend, the fearsome COUNT ORLOK!*

Death's Head am I, silver-green
Eerily glowing-in-the-doomy-dark,
See my delicate feather-like wings,
Wings of an ethereal ghost, deadly antennae,
Scented fatally with secret moth codes.
And I stare unblinking...

I watch my own wings flap open;
My life is balanced on my fingertips,
Weightless and shimmering, fearful of what?
I dare not ask that, for I dread the answer,
The response of night-creatures baying at the moon,
As in a terrible nightmare.

And I fly forth to bring death
To frail creatures of mere flesh,
O the joy as my teeth sink into waiting necks
And proboscis-light kisses run down my naked spine,
My tongue savouring their dying essence,
A vague taste of purest *****.

Number Ten in the terrifying ORLOK series*

A horrid figure is standing on your doorstep,
My mouth spouting freely dread plumes of rancid breath;
Such a noisome stench billows from my rotten maw
As my hate-filled eyes stare at you in the twilight.

You know from my dread expression that I have come,
Come to claim you and to drain your sad poor body
Of all its warm juices from every orifice;
And you can guess just what I intend before you die.

Your soul will scream in terror at what next awaits:
Watch with clammy fear as I removes my cloak
Revealing my scaly nakedness before your eyes
Including the largest **** in eternity.

The bleak evening's feeble rays reflect o'er my face,
As I tear off my Y-Fronts and sodomise you,
With immensely fast and powerful buttock thrusts,
Before you even have a chance to empty your bowels.

And after I have finished with your rear passage,
I shall sink my yellow fangs into your trembling neck,
******* hard enough to empty veins and colon;
O plunge gravewards, ****** in every sense of the word.

Number 7 in the ORLOK series and one of the best*

O how I relish the taste of blood
****** out from the devastated jugular
But there is more, much more
When the victim is a nubile ****
From a Transylvanian village
Where ****** morality
Is quite ******* thin on the ground;
And that is how I met my fate.

'Twas on an October eve
When I met plump Esmeralda
And (having fed my fill from her neck
as she slept in her hut
under filthy rags stinking of stale *****),
I sank my fangs into her naked belly
Ripping into her bloated guts
With my accustomed gusto;
My tongue slurping its way
Over her twitching ****;
And finally I descended joyously
To her odorous *****-encrusted *****
For the last rites,
Before the final curtain
To her worthless life of peasantry.

But then, as my excitement mounted,
And just as I was on the verge
Of pumping out my vampiric *******,
I felt an agonising, mind-blasting pain
As a major stroke swept through me,
Wrecking my synapses big time,
Turning my brain into guacamole.
And now I am a crippled ******,
Just a spasticated old vampire
In my second-hand rusting wheelchair,
Courtesy of Romanian Social Services,
Drooling helplessly
Into my swollen pissy crotch,
Waiting for another enema,
My sole remaining pleasure
And a stimulus to my jaded prostate.

But, hurrah! hurrah! new hope arrives:
A miracle occurs as I read of
The new wonder pill from SuperDrug
Available only in private practise
And guaranteed to rejuvenate the jaded
Or your money back, no worries.
Orlok will fly again to pursue
The pleasures of the flesh
And especially the botty-zone.

This is number six of ORLOK's poems*

When I see a fat smiling face
On a plump young ******
I am consumed with lust
To rip out her neck
And to **** the lifeblood
From her throbbing veins.

And then my drooling jaws
Slide down her floppy ****
Heading southwards
To where the business is at
For a further tasty mouthful
From both ends.

Finally I administer
The coup de grâce
Which is to say
Putting it bluntly
Eight inches of vampiric ****
Up the dirtbox.

Yes, it's the fifth in the COUNT ORLOK series!

Ah! Sweet Death comes slowly
   to my poor victims,
As I **** their lifeblood
   through their gargling screams.

How I enjoy their cries
  for mercy and compassion,
Just before I give them
  eight inches up the ****.

CHORUS  (Sung to the tune of "Rawhide")

Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting,
Though the smell's disgusting
Yeeha!
I'm evil beyond measure
And I gain my evil pleasure

Through rain and wind and weather,
My ****-splattered **** will never
Forget the pangs of pleasure
Inside...inside...
Yeeeeee-Hawwww!!!!"

[Orlok wipes crap off vampiric **** and flies off,
the wnd whistling through his gaping zip.]