Monday, September 8, 2008

The birth of a vampire

Fancy robes
Covering bodies
With deep wounds
Oozing thick, dark blood
And they use the color
of their own blood
To create patterns
On the cloth
That covers them

Each one bleeding…
Gasping... in pain.
But a cry will be a weakness
So a laughter comes out instead
Walking, with a glass in one hand
A cigarette in another
A smile pasted on the lips
The city carries one day to another
…An art!

Each one searching hard
Walking through piles of men and women
Who gather around the bar
A glass in one hand
A cigarette in another
Smoke blurring out the pain
As they walk through the doors
Again and again
Sifting through one another
…A search!

Then the bell rings
The spider feels a tingle
As the web vibrates
A prey…
They drool in silence
Waiting for it to get sucked by the city
A fly now trapped
In the web
The spider moves swiftly
Finishes off the meal
And waits for the next
… kill!

But spiders are not vampires.

They wait for the city
to trap the new prey
Then they move in
Gyrating, slithering, smoking...
A glass in one hand
A cigarette in another
Touch, caress, feel, pull
And then the final bite…
A wound that will bleed forever
Another vampire is born
Another glass
Another cigarette
...sifting through piles of bodies
Every night
Another endless search
To find oneself.

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