everyone in the city has become
a burgeoning surgeon -
eager to cure the blood with a fresh new cut.
I walk the streets bleeding my offerings.
(the vampires at least are honest in their hunger.)
the well meaning faces are smiling
a kind of mercy which serves to kill.
(while whispering, “if only...”)
The heat of the sun reels me forward,
like a daylight zombie I walk toward the sun
which never once before took notice of me nor cared
whether it singed or seared me.
At least there my wounds might find relief;
Newly cauterized scars
to greet my morning mirror.
Or else
or else,
perhaps,
the sun will consume me into itself
so that one day I may flourish as a series of rays
to swaddle
a new generation of surgeons.
but the vampires
the vampires
will always be safe.
