UNNAMED

The moon was full and red, the color of fresh-sprung blood. I was walking somewhere from something, I can't remember. I was tired, so tired, yet I walked. Fate? I don't know. On the path, winding through the lonely woods, I heard his step.

What made me stop? I could have kept wallking. I couldn't have kept walking. He stepped out in front of me, beautiful, dark as the moon. I stopped, he came to me. His lips on mine, my own blood filling my open mouth, no pain, only pleasure. His hand caressing my neck. Through closed eyes I felt his teeth against my throat, his teeth in my throat. I cried as I died. The blood from his wrist filling my open mouth, my tears mixing. Blood, tears, salt. I cried out, dieing, dead, undead.

My eyes opened, pain as sweet as pleasure, the moon and face above me red with blood. My shirt was stained, I was stained. I did not cry, could not cry.

Now, the night, it calls to me of the thirst, the blood to be drawn, neverending. Why! Why? Why must I take the life I revere, the life I love, the life I worship? I cannot cry, though she cries for me, in blood and in tears, as I take what I wish could be mine once more, and give what I wish will someday be mine. My teeth against her soft, pulsing throat, my teeth in her throat. Her tears of blood cry for me, for the sunrises and sunsets lost, for the moonrises and moonsets gained. She is gone.

The next, the next, always the next. I need the next to add to the last. The heat, the emotions, the life from the salt of the blood as it fills my open mouth. This is my life forevermore. This is hell.