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You think I'm a monster?

I'm not.

I never was.

What made me a vampire

that was a monster.

Cruelty was its fun.

Killing its sense of life.

But I'm different.

I didn't want

to become what I am.

I never wanted

to live forever.

But this way of life

is no real life.

It's only existing.

And I'm too weak...

too weak to stop existing...

I was young.

I was full of dreams,

of hopes...

And then there was

death...

I fell...

into a dark whole...

Complete silence...

No one around...

No feeling left...

but sadness.

I long for my past...

So much time ago...

I long for the sun...

Maybe, one day...

I have the strength to see it again!

Now!

The last thing I see

before I stop existing!

We swept into the sleepy town

on wings of night; we were

a rushing, a ferocious wind

and we were hungry.



Some felt us coming.

Some amongst the fat

and frightened sleepers

raised their heads, their hooded eyes

would try in vain to pierce the dark -

as always, they would try to find

a refuge in a fire, that is all

they ever knew to have,

to stand between them and the endless night,

filled to the brim with life

that wants to feast upon them,

wants to sink its flashing teeth

without a second's hesitation

deep into their unprotected flesh

and tear their worlds apart

in a bright ruby sacrifice,

a baptism of blood that ends

their meaningless existence.



But all the fires do

is blind them further still

and take away whatever chance

they might have had to rise and flee,

or to agree and find a balance,

learn our ways and share our days and nights

in some form that resembles an ecology -

but they do no such thing,

instead they quiver and they tremble,

they pray, they stare -

right up until their end.



Yet there are others, rare amongst them,

who would try to see.



In every village, every town

there are a chosen few

who celebrate the coming of our kind,

who see us not as monsters

but as saviours and they prayed

that we should come and take revenge

on their behalf on all that madness,

all that sadness,

all those pointless lives and lies -

those are the children of the night,

they run to us and they care not

if they should live or die,

for those we are salvation,

either way.



So here we are and here we stand

in drifting veils of time and power,

our family is here and there before us

lies the sleeping town.



Bright is the moon above;

it lights the shadow shapes

of those few who have come to greet us,

meet us and invite us to begin the feast -

as is tradition, we enfold them first

and some of those if they are strong and pure

will join our family;

and others will find sweet release

and will receive the blessing of the night.



This serves to heighten our senses;

and the hunger is now such

that we must laugh and spin.



We stand together one more time as one,

we play with our exquisite and excruciating need,

we make it crest as high as it will be;

and then we rush into the town

and now, the feast begins.

Your skin,

once perfect,

once a pale sweep

of unbroken desert dunes,

has felt my kiss

and now it cries -

ruby tears are welling up,

are slowly sliding

down your throat,

glistening, delicious

tears of joy,

of life

of your awakening.



I am always moved

when I thus watch

the sorrow of the body,

expressed, released,

out in the open now

for all to see -

and it was always there,

and not to know that

is the deepest

of illusions.



Here, watch with me.



Observe with fascination

as your treasures flow

across your breast

and make their way

to your most intimate

of oceans - this is my

sacrifice before I start

to make all this my own,

my gift to you,

the first of all,

the most important

lesson of your life.



Now close your eyes.



Give up your yesterdays

and your tomorrows -

all those are gone,

will never be

and you and me

will take a journey

new and bright,

into the night

a dawn of radiance

awaits.