He falls to his knees,
Cool air blows gently.
-He feels nothing,
Endless, in my ending.
He has survived.
The dead hunter has fled.
He knows well what he has escaped.
I never lied, when I told you that you completed me.
That, I think, is why I hurt so badly now.
I hurt because a part of me is missing.
Before I knew you,
I thought I was talented,
Writing about vampires as much as I did.
In fact, I thought I could write poetry
About anything at all.
The man lies in his armchair,
Asleep, two dozen beer cans
Scattered about him
The sun disappears beyond the horizon.
-I awake, the hunger alone in my mind-
My senses, without feeling, animalistic,
Alert me of fresh prey nearby.
The poppies cling to life
On two fresh graves.
He finds the body of the old man,
Pale, as they all are,
He shakes his head,