The Vampire Walks at Night

Late at night he ventures forth,
His lair left behind.
Searching the darkness for blood,
And terror.

Down the alleys and byways he prowls,
Sniffing the air,
Hunting for his next meal.
More an animal then the man he once was.

For a thousand years he has roamed the lands,
Unable to die,
Unstoppable in his need.
His thirst is his life.

He strolls along a quiet suburb,
Listening, waiting,
The sound of her he hears.
Singing to herself so sweetly.

He approaches her window unseen.
Unknown he sees her there at the window.
Just a slip of a girl,
Barely in her teens.

Her scent captures his imagination,
Unspoiled virgin that she is.
So succulent, so sweet
He will have her for himself.

Creeping up to her window
He whispers to her mind
“Let me in, just say the words”
Insinuating himself fully.

She hears him but doesn’t,
Deep in the core of her thoughts.
She opens the window
But nothing is there.

“Just beckon to me” he says.
“An invitation is all I need”
Not knowing her own self
She waves him in.

Into her room in a flourish he comes,
Taking her down to her bed.
Her mind is his now,
And her body.

Her blood is all he needs,
But its her body that he will also take.
Ripping away her nightgown,
He feasts first with his eyes.

His clothing hit’s the floor
As he slide himself up her body,
Tasting her flesh as he goes,
Teasing her as she has never known.

She shivers under his cold lips,
But returns his fevered kiss.
Feeling him grow hard against her stomach
She knows what he wants.

As his lips travel to her budding breasts
He nips her as he goes.
Tasting her untainted blood
His need grows.

She spreads herself for him,
Not knowing what else to do.
She lets him take complete control
As he enters her.

Breaking past her maidenhood,
She feels him, cold and hard inside her,
Thrusting up into her,
Making her bleed again.

He takes his time.
Ravishing her body,
Again and again,
As dawn approaches.

He’s out of time now,
Nothing left but the kill.
He rips into her throat,
Her blood fills his mouth.

Too late to cry.
Too late to scream.
Too late to realize her mistake.
Her life’s blood flows to sustain him.

In her final twitches of life
He twitches inside her.
His orgasm is mighty and hard
But no seed does he shed.

For life is not his to give
For he has none of his own.
Only what he can steal from others,
Such as the waif beneath him.

Dawn is close now,
The house is starting to come awake.
He leaves her there then,
Torn and bloody, defiled and dead.

Racing the sun back to his lair
He is satisfied for the night.
But the setting of the sun
Will see him hunt again.