Poetry

Spooktown, 13 (287.)

Look, it’s me,
a self-flagellating vampire
drinking his own lifeblood
and losing his feel for the sun.
I never meant to leech
my own energy,
but I’m so damn tired lately,
I can’t help but conclude that
I’m drinking deep of myself.
And not in the good way.
It’s not like I look in the mirror
and feel proud, or say “I know this guy,
he’s a good guy,”
it’s more like
I neglect most self-care
and sleep less than I should,
eat less than I should,
stay inside more than I should,
focus too much
on my lack of dates,
fuck, I know
we’re in a pandemic
so I shouldn’t feel bad about staying in,
but at this point I don’t know,
I don’t know what I wanna do.
This self-pity party
has been brought to you by
Diet Coke at 2 AM.
It came with a leftover
Jimmy John’s BLT.
I’m not trying to connect Jimmy John’s
to depression, but
I gotta say, my lack of restraint
when it comes to ordering food lately
is a bit of a concern.
So anyway, I’ve gotta
work full-time to make ends meet
and hold up the contract I signed.
But what I really want
is a good long vacation
to explore beautiful places
and hone budding skills.
Oh well, it’s
rent and random bills for me,
until
something drastically awesome happens.
Fuck the system.
There we go, this vampire
never lost his teenage angst.

For real though, I want
all the blood I can get.

Standard

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