Drops of Blood

Heart pounding. Breath quickening. Skin slicking with sweat. In the throes of passion, our limbs interlace like roots in a forest. With each new second that flickers in and out of existence, my desire for the writhing body beneath me burns hotter, and hotter until my dormant inner-self becomes volcanic with lust. Fingertips trembling. Lips quivering. Appetite wetting. As the moon unfurls midnight and blankets the room in wisps of silver and grey, I know my hunger can no longer be caged. Like a wild animal, it demands to be freed. It takes just one glance at his exposed neck – soft and untarnished, and my teeth are bared; desperate to be sunk into virginal flesh once more. 

Damn it… what was once so bone shudderingly good has been dulled to nothing. What was once electrifyingly sweet has been diluted to barely a tingle. Draining the life of the innocents used to be better than sex; now it can scarcely appease. I used to be able to fly on how high blood made me feel. Now, I can barely leave the ground before crashing back down. I remember my first ever bite and suck – it was magical, like the break of dawn after a cold winters night. It was as if my crumpled, lifeless body had finally been folded into a beautiful swan by origami, and destined to feel beautiful forever.

If I knew blood would never feel as good as the first ever hit, I would have stopped even before I started, and gladly succumbed to the withering. Instead, I’m left with an abyss deepening inside of me, which only blackens and widens with every new drop of blood that falls onto my grasping tongue.

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