Vampire, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

VampireVampyr II, Edvard Munch (woodcut) (1895)


Why do I commit to which will destroy,
The meaning of my actual being.
As I’m not meant to be a spider’s mate.
This is not what I thought to me my fate.

As I caressed you with my arms of love,
You sunk your hungry teeth into my neck,
Accepting my boiling blood as your gift,
Sending my weak mortal body adrift.

Traveled to a euphoric wonderland,
So high, way beyond the deep purple sky.
The storm I felt comes from my erectile,
Soon started a haunting downward spiral.

Trying so earnestly my best to breathe,
Then I felt my sorry soul take its leave.