by Nick Gisburne
The vampire nation. Drop dead smoking hot.
Seductive, steamy, sinful, sexy, right?
But some of us are definitely not.
There is no school of style for those who bite.
Take me. These filthy fingers could not stroke
The passions of a virgin with finesse.
I scratch, I sweat, I’m spotty, and I smoke.
A product of the meals I murder? Yes.
The human race has grown, you surely see.
Your blood, too strong, too sweet, is filled with fat.
You’re bigger than you ever used to be,
And we, in time, have paid a price for that.
Consuming blood from sacks of greasy meat,
Our downfall, over dinner, is complete.
