Nosferatu

Tender flesh was flooding from her crust, boneless,
emptied from the last drop of decent blood, lifeless,
quenching His thirst till the very last drop, careless,

Her soul, trapped inside her rotten decayed carcass,
pleads to be crushed by hyenas, tossed in a crevasse.
Flesh will bring him back for one more blood-glass.

Hyenas ached back, too petrified from His feral rage,
watched Him arising grandly from his gloomy grave;
the lowest form of demon demanding His angel slave.

He was not so starved, filthy fangs soiled with flesh;
Stained with a damned glistening red elixir, so fresh,
eager to dissolve her burned, hurting, hideous slash.

He caressed her disposable insignificant denied soul,
healing damaged scars, filling passion into her whole.
Elevating her soul, secretly rising out of the devil hole.

Azrael saw Him stealing her fervently out of Gehenna.
Fuming with rage, rave, bellowing His name: Dracula,
the Angel of Death struck Him out of a feverish mania.

He lost her; she is now, like Him, converted, immortal.
No heartbeat, no pulse, no soul, bloodless, all eternal,
she will remain a slave, a damned slave, not His at all.

He floated back to His shrine, grave; heartless, tearless.
she went her way, not His way, thirsty, ruthless, fearless.
she found her own glorious grave, a passionless princess.

May 2007