Tristan Robert Lange
The Vampyre
The vampyre looms in the shadows,
Waiting for his nightly feast.
What\'s lost is eternal gain
For such a blood-lusting beast.
Entombed in darkness,
A shadow with no reflection,
The horrid monster reanimates
Upon his nightly resurrection.
Gloom defines the atmosphere
Like a dense, thickened mist.
Timeless are the wounds,
From the vampyre\'s kiss.
The stagnant stench of decay
Fills the decrepit parasite\'s lair.
A sweet fragrance for the undead
Travels through the foul air.
The Vampyre arises slowly
On the prowl for human blood,
He leaves his corpse\'s shell
For his next victim\'s flood.
Looming in the darkness,
A young virgin he spots.
He watches her intently
Tracing her veins...so hot.
\"Come to me,\" he whispers,
\"Come to me, my child.
\"Come to me pretty one!\"
Your essence drives me wild.
She comes at his beckoning,
She can\'t resist his call.
She bares it all for him;
He feasts, totally enthralled!