anathema

Chapter 4

two a.m. it grows colder

it seems darker outside

I ever imaged it to be.

My room, lit by a single candle

flame dances in

drafts from an open pane—

is where I hide from the world,

I cower from all evils,

included.

I have not gone out in so long—

I have not eaten in so long and

my stomach remains deathly silent,

veins hunger for food.

Their rumbling is almost audible.

I do not wish to live any longer

death is beyond my reach.

I could divide the flesh at my wrist

watch the dark blood well up

I’m afraid my need will take control

I won’t be able to stop myself

pressing my own flesh, cold,

my greedy lips to drink.

I cannot drink from the dead

I am simply not alive—

undead of lore.

Within my darkened room, where

candle flickers feebly but

not extinguished, I begin to wonder

I could drink from me.

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