November 21st, Year of the Corpse

Every man I have ever spent time with merges together, to form an idealized version of someone who should have been my lover, but does not exist. The picture is so beautiful, that now I welcome love and its many complications. I wish I could breathe eternal life to this. I wish I could hold it forever, giving it all the emotion it deserves.

My legs are extended on the floor, so that I may admire their length. In truth, it is a direct line to me that I form. To a heart that aches with doubt, and wants to burn up in ecstasy. To a desire for sex that is primal and violent. To a trap that will allow me to devour men easily.

If I am some kind of vampire, like the others, it is not by birth. It came to be that the blood of another tasted better than my own. Their life force was vibrant, while mine has always been dull. And, if I asked for some of what made others seem like shining stars in a dark sky, I would be denied. So I take aggressively, and without reservations.

November 21st, Year of the Corpse

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