Vampiric
Drench me in holy water
Let its burning anguish wash over my head,
Screaming into my soul with dismal abandon.
Let it clog my throat and make me drown.
Resurrect my heart, make it beat,
One contraction after another,
A muscled seizure –
Stake it.
Allow the cross to burn my hand –
Make me feel again.
Make this skin blaze with anything other than yearning –
Longing, reaching, seeking, draining.
Frailty of the human visage
Easily crushed under domineering fatigue,
Dragged through the mud
By the horse that saved one from utter demise.
Can I not swing the way I wish?
Feet down, head held up, sway – side to side.
Decease.
Death.
Expire
Perish,
Pass on into life,
Rebirth;
Drained by the wrathful God Edward rants about.
An arrow strained at the heart,
Penetrating, precise, tearing, bursting, my skin awash with blood,
A fountain,
Justice can never be served
Until the dead are laid to rest.
Hang me.
Put me up like an ornament:
Display me, hands, feet, waist, neck, face.
Make them spit,
Make them throw stones,
Make me feel.
Make me the pillar of Creation.
Of ignominy.
Let the children walk by and make faces at the price of redemption.
Purgatory in all its sweet glory,
Exempt from my flesh,
Deeply buried in the bone,
A hum like a crooning whisper of a God I've never known
Singing angelically in my ear.
The Devil cackles.
He knows to whom I belong.
Save me, force foul creations into my mouth,
Make it sear my throat as it descends:
Concoctions made of Fear
That would purge the raging fire burning beneath the skin.
A throbbing, flickering, all encompassing ardor
Belying the tribulation of my circumstance.
I die while I grin psychotically fill to bursting with enjoyment.
A balloon filled with water.
Shackle me in silver chains, silver spikes,
Silver cross,
Shoot me between the eyes with a silver bullet,
Parade my head around the town on a silver platter,
Shout, "The Vampire is dead!"
Rejoice in my demise.
Time's stopped,
Opened his heavy-lidded eye and smiles cruelly at me,
Holding me suspended between the world of the dead and of the living,
A coma of Death.
An intaglio branded into my forehead.
Redeem my flesh, if not my soul.
Make the dead, united with the dead.
Raina Frost