© Andrè M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved
The graveyard is our tomb hotel, with coffins for the poor.
Bloodthirst, our primal urge, the one and only nightly cure!
A predatory kinda revenant, as we arise from certain Death.
Defying God’s dictum due our own dark passions and wrath!
Our ego faced the scythe-bearer, and spit it into the face.
Nocturn, smart, and elegant we build the true masterrace.
The graceful, stylish killer prowls, for we all learned to be:
Children of the Bloodshed, each night we are breaking free.
Prolonged life and feats of power, we pale the mortal fools.
At day they crawl like slaves, at night they bow to our rules.
Mortality, once overcome, feels like a granny’s horrid dream.
Our undead existence cherished and indulged to an extreme.
My Gothic Poetry: I do know Vampire the Masquerade and Requiem. I did play the demo of ‘Bloodlust – Shadowhunter (Witch, btw.). Right now a mere newbie restart, and certainly NOT a work of advanced occultism. Much more an accrediting of once appreciated, individual women I met in subcultures and underground identities…