And in a way, I miss the taste...
And in a way, I was never really hungry anyway..
For blood..
For lust...
I watch the sun,
as it strains to touch me.
I don't laugh,
but I do muse,
at how simple things
can carry strong burdens.
I stray to touch a single strand
of life on your neck,
haunting me with such dreams...
too blackened by death
to count or describe.
A curse.
And shall I end it?
And be worse than what I am?
Or is this just the natural balance...
of life?
And if the apocalypse is nearing us now?
Shall I fret if am damned anyway?
No.
It is too tiring,
when there is no chance to be fatigued.
I never really wanted your taste anyway..