I listen to the delicate sound of the clock
I watch the hands manoeuvre around... tick... tock,
I count down the minuets there is till midnight,
I make sure the moon is the only light,
My time has approached, its 12 o clock now
I need to get up the stairs but I wonder how,
 So I start to creep out from under my den,
I have to taste the drops of red again,
I tiptoe up the stairs silent and stealthy,
I smell for my victim, with blood so healthy,
I see her, sleeping, lying there,
I stand by her bedside, and brush aside her hair,
She is strikingly beautiful, so lovely and fair,
Then I see her neck, and stop and stair,
I gently slide my fangs across her neck,
Trying not to break the skin, at least not yet,
Savouring the moment of her dreamy sighs
It’s a shame, such a beauty, is going to meet her demise
I take one long breath in, trying not to wake her,
Fortunately, she just slightly stirs...
...a few minuets later a sweet crimson river bursts its
banks,
And flows gently into my mouth like a slow waltz dance.
It's a pity that beauty will now never wake,
but at least when she ages, her beauty won't break.