Poetry: Flower For A Vampire

Childish games in the hearts of the young. Years past but matured you have not. Disciplined in all but wreckless in affection. Look in the mirror and pay attention to your reflection. You rip the hearts of your lovers and bathe in the blood, feed off the attention. Not noticing your tainted hunger for more is emptying your heart while you stuff your face with sorrow disguised as attention drenched in infatuation. Die in fake fulfilment. Ill put a flower on your grave with the last petal untouched. I love you not.