i've had this blood red lipstick
for years, and only now i put it on
and wonder what it would look like
smudged on your ivory white skin.
your jugular is teasing as my lips
lay gently on it.
and the flow gets faster and faster
while i stifle smiles.
you don't know what you got yourself into.
i will kiss you over and over again
like i've done on my walls for years.
the stain of the pigment on the separations
of your neck will streak down like
the tears from your glass eyes.
in the same way, i bite my tongue around you
and end up biting my lip,
and the wound runs down down down.
with that one profession of love you are a part
of my legion, not of the undead,
but of the living through love.
if someone spoke your name
over my cenotaph,
i would visit the funeral
as a mourner in the procession
just to hear your name again.
my hands chill yours
like the moon filled night
while we both wear white long-sleeves.
after all, with innocence and purity,
white is a romantic color.
it is stark and striking
like how we have become after just one bite.
mirrors never worked, but i don't need the longing anymore.
i see my reflection in the mirror of your eyes
which have jaundiced over the years.
i would rather us, though, drunkenly describe
each other while laying down on the wood tiles
of our mansion after a long night out
and the sun is bearing its light for us to die by.
it reminds me what that band
of romantic chemicals said:
"vampires will never hurt you."
Romantic vampires? Yes please! This reminds me of when I used to watch “The vampire diaries” and “The originals”. This vampire in the poem is probably seen as a villain, but that human loves them so, even if there is only a small flicker of good left in the vampire’s distant, almost nonexistent soul. And now the human joins them in their immortal life.
I hope that you will have a spectacular day/night.
Hey there,
Im here to leave you a review on your incredible piece. Vampires, is always a great topic to write about and I really enjoyed reading your poem.
i've had this blood red lipstick
for years, and only now i put it on
and wonder what it would look like
smudged on your ivory white skin.
your jugular is teasing as my lips
lay gently on it.
and the flow gets faster and faster
while i stifle smiles.
you don't know what you got yourself into.
i will kiss you over and over again
like i've done on my walls for years.
the stain of the pigment on the separations
of your neck will streak down like
the tears from your glass eyes.
in the same way, i bite my tongue around you
and end up biting my lip,
and the wound runs down down down.
with that one profession of love you are a part
of my legion, not of the undead,
but of the living through love.
if someone spoke your name
over my cenotaph,
i would visit the funeral
as a mourner in the procession
just to hear your name again.
mirrors never worked, but i don't need the longing anymore.
i see my reflection in the mirror of your eyes
which have jaundiced over the years.
i would rather us, though, drunkenly describe
each other while laying down on the wood tiles
of our mansion after a long night out
and the sun is bearing its light for us to die by.
it reminds me what that band
of romantic chemicals said:
"vampires will never hurt you."
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