The blood-moon rises. Dogs howl.
Drown out the cry of the night owl.
Out from his coffin, creature crawls:
This beast obeys the nightly calls.
And through his fangs, bellows a growl.
His cloaking cape, his monk-like cowl,
Caked in plasma, from his last foul
Feast, slurped from veins in bathroom stalls.
The blood-moon rises…
Out from the tomb, he’s on the prowl.
His fangs protrude over his jowl.
He stalks his pray through winding halls
The doomed female cries, shrieks, and falls.
Teeth sink inside her flesh. Eyes scowl.
The blood-moon rises…
© All Rights Reserved Caroline Adele O’Brien
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Yuck! This vampire is positively disgusting “Caked in plasma, from his last foul feast, slurped from veins in bathroom stalls”. What a powerful, visceral, dark poem. Love it.
Hahaha, thank you, Irina! Yes, he is rather disgusting, isn’t he? Haha!
🙂