The sun has burned my skin,
Yet I get no tan.
The day, though inviting, tires my brain.
And I'm no woman of religion,
Or a fan of the scent of garlic,
Or a fan of my reflection.
My nocturnalness is laughable, though
It is seen.
My friends have deemed me a vampire,
A blood-sucker culled in a coffin,
A stake-fearing, human-eating monster.
Sometimes I wonder if that's true.
If it was, why am I unaware?
A monster so powerful,
Yet I am weakened by forgetfulness.
But I will not fall into the vampiric ways.
Not so long as I stand here human,
Making joke with my friends.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoésieI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
