Lucid Dreams of Gothic Vitae
Bloody, steel blades piercing into their flesh,
The taste of this Vampire's wine,
Is always cemetery blessed.
Coursing from their veins,
Giving me morbid, undead life,
I'm discovering passion and conquering strife.
Like strewn-out crimson satin,
It flows past my ready lips,
And like the impalings by Lord Vlad Dracule,
Their flesh, in gruesome atrocity, slowly rips.
And as though we live to hate life and worship only death,
I'd die to compare to the Countess, my dear, sweet, Elizabeth.
I'd waste pain from the beast to bathe in thick, Victorian blood.
To taste it as only in sleep's sweet, lucid dreams,
To lace hunger's delicious relief with vicious night screams,
I'd let my pain, excruciating, lick my eyes and tear these seams.
For only lucid dreams of gothic vitae hold my heart,
And only in Death's embracing arms, would it's ending ever start.
