The Thirst

My face grows paler each coming day –

But the bright crimson on my lips remains.

And the bite marks bloom like spring flowers

As you leave me alone in the dark for hours.

No, I do not mind it, leave as you please,

Lock me in your tower ‘til the next Christmas eve.

My skin will grow snowy, my muscles – weak.

My voice will forget which words I can speak.

But the bright crimson on my lips will stay,

Hiding from sunrises and their audacious ways.

And you will come home to see me once more,

Hopeless and fearful, still lacking a cure.

The memories will lose their charming taste,

You will think of death when seeing my face.

But the blood will not stain

As long as you stay.

As long as you carry the thirst too,

You will bow before my pain.

-JW