They see you in the night,
whisper "nosferatu."
Through a hollow in their life,
you appear, disappear,
appear, a candle flame
triumphant in your fire.
You have been there,
done this before.
In long creaky dust-riddled corridors
of crumbling castles.
In the many rooms
of decaying Victorian mansions.
Across rotting floorboards
of Georgian town houses.
Even the sterile mating grounds
of these gated communities
provide moist soil
for your fangs,
your hunger,
those most modern
of conveniences.
Whenever the present
sags decayed, decrepit
into the hollows of the past,
your voluptuous, proud mouth,
appears like light.
A wick, thin but unbreakable,
connects the melting wax
of all these years.
They see the flash,
the echo of your heat.
They whisper "nosferatu"
and it burns brighter.
You appear, disappear,
appear, just enough
to always be here.
You cast a shadow
on the shadow.