Your self-accusations are now tiresome and weak.
You may think that you’re different – even lesser, when speak
-ing of ailments, dilemmas and troubles by the score.
You call yourself bewitched – or maybe something more.

But you am not a vampire despite what you might wish.
Sure you live nocturnally so you can accomplish
all the things you wish to do in hours sans a sun
but you’re not any vampire, even when all days are gone.

Think: don’t you dine on garlic every meal?
And when you look into a mirror, what does it reveal?
Is it a blank? Are you so pale – without concealer placed
on every gothic part of you, from toes up to your face?

Nope! You’re nothing but a faker of Transylvanian accents
who claims to be a creature of underworldly descent.
You may pray to dark gods for wishes yet received.
Still: you am not a vampire, despite what you believe.

Another verse might sell this point far more appreciably
of spectators unsuspecting who both saw and didn’t see
your fangs attached, your red contacts, with which to hypnotize
any brain-undead who could be led to swallow lies.

No, you am not a vampire nor ever shall you be
– unless you study Ann Rice and her ilk more carefully
and it’s doubtful that you’d do that, what with all the trends you buck.
So you am not a vampire – though quite often – true – you suck.