It's easy to romanticize vampiric love,
The kind that eats at your flesh,
The kind that drives you wild with anticipation and hunger.

But somewhere in your midnight,
Love shouldn't break your skin;
Love should walk you home.

I hate that my pain
Is so easy for you to dig
Your hands into
I hate that I write poetry
To spread as much good
As hurt you've given me
I hate that you can preach
About forgiveness
When you know more
About my body
Than Christianity
I hate that my life
Will always be a reoccurring nightmare
I hate that I cannot silence you
Because you are still
The blood inside my mouth

I'm hearing these alien words that terrify me.
Terminal, seroconvert, infection, inconclusive, possibility.
They say stay strong, keep your chin up.
They don't understand just the possibility is enough.
Who wants a woman you can't take to bed?
Who wants to fear when I bled?
Alien words, alien feelings, foreign bodies inside and out of me.
But don't worry, they say.
It's controllable, a pill a day.
Pills. That's what they give me.
For the depression, the infection, the anxiety.
I feel as helpless as the child I will never bare.
"What the hell is going on" I blare.
Testing, testing, testing they say.
As I ***** to cope and my legs give way.
Fragility, infertility, susceptibility.
But don't worry, it's all just a possibility.