The Hunt
This is a narrative poem about the first hunt of a newly made vampire.
Blood trickles down like sand in an hourglass
Every drop brings you closer to the end.
Your heart stops
Yet you keep breathing.
The aired dryness in the back of you throat signals your thirst for something other than water.
Your body strengthens
Your teeth sharpen and extend.
Before you can control yourself
You hunt and capture easy prey.
He's a drunk looking for a good time.
Your teeth pierce his warm flesh releasing his blood,
It flows over your tongue like air,
It tastes of salt and iron.
His heart thrums in ecstasy as you drain him dry.
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