Shade Rodieson Poems

Bite me vampire drink my blood
I assure you it tastes good
I want to be a vampire too
I want to hunt for blood with you
...

When I was a little girl I actually loved my Mother.
She was an angel to me Loving, Caring, The perfect Mom.
But one day something changed in her.
I no longer thought of her as angel but demon.
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As i look to the moon and stars in the sky
i think of that night when you killed me
As i run with you beind
you catch me and hold me back
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a girl expresses her sorrow and hurt

she takes a blade and cuts her wrist
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To care or not...
each day is like a snowflake almost the same but not quite
same as the days where i attempt to rank first striving to one day be unsurpassed by my peers. never the less im always outranked by my so called friend Grace. sometimes i wonder how she remembers everything she must not have a life but hah im really one to talk. glaring at her head after once more being surpassed, listening to the dull monotone of my geometry teacher i decide not to care anymore. not being one to sleep in class i somehow go unnoticed. i sleep through 1st and grab my homework hastily to avoid a confrontation with Mr.Monotone. slipping into the bathroom i put pale powder on my already pale cheeks. staring into the mirror i smile a grim smile and leave, my shadow echoing behind me.
i arrive at second period English just as the bell rings. i walk to the teachers desk slowly. Mrs. Grammar looks up at me worried expression on her face. Are you sick she asks, her mouth an upside down crescent moon. i nod without words. i watch as she writes a note to the nurse. My Golden Ticket.
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Days of darknes
Tears of Pain.
Forever falling.
Its my nightmare.
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To Care or Not.

Each day is like a snowflake almost the same but not quite.
Same as the days where I attempt to rank first, striving to one day be unsurpassed by me peers. Nevertheless im always outranked or outscored by my so called friend Grace. I find this okay to some point but when she brags continuously I want to duck tape her mouth shut to never again hear her voice. Sometimes I wonder how she remembers everything, she must not have a life but, im really one to talk.
...

fresh mound of dirt
gazing at the stone
the little girl was five
not on this earth anymore
...