The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I had a dream of you once. You were standing next to me with your head held high. Your eyes were lit up like the morning sun. There was something there, in those eyes of yours. Something I never would have imagined. Your hand reached out to me as if you were trying to help me from a fall. Your skin was soft to the touch. I remember taking your hand and thinking of how I never wanted to let go. The light now shines at your back giving you an aura of holiness. You looked like an angel that had come to take me away. An angel of love. The world started spinning, making me dizzy. No, it wasn't the world. You were spinning. You were spinning out of control. I realized what was in your eyes. I saw the disgust you felt for me. It wasn't the morning sun, it was a fire of hatred. I could see it burning in your heart. That's when I realized why you held your head up. You believed that you had control over me. You thought you had proved to be the better person. You knew that I was the childish one. Then, in a single moment of regret, you realized what you had thrown away. In all your glory, you let the one thing, you thought meant so little to you, escape from your grasp. Now you sit, knowing that I wasn't just some dream that you could forget.

I sit here thinking of the things I must do today. All the regular chores spin around my head releasing a feverish wave of overwhelming disgust. For a split second, I see a light of hope. I see the fall of snow onto a table. In my mind, I wonder what this could be. Where would snow come from? Why would it be here? The snow then turns to a rainbow of colors. A bright blue, a searing yellow, even a fierce green. Then, the snow turns red. Not the normal red, but a dark red. What's going on? I reach out to touch it, not knowing what to think. My hand slides through it like it was water. It feels warm and thick. Without even thinking, I put the gun down to inspect this liquid. How did it get here? Where did it come from? As I think of what this could be, my mind returns to the gun on the table....

Time goes by, still waiting. Will she ever notice me? Does she even care? Who knows? Heart's pounding, excitement. Is it her? No. Can't take much more. Lost track of days, still waiting. Where'd she go? Not here? Clock's ticking, still waiting. Losing my mind? Don't know? You care? No. That her? Is she here? Maybe, still waiting. Can't stay? No. Why not? Tired of waiting...

Take the pain and let it roll. The feeling inside takes it's toll. Are we here for one thing and one thing only or does this thing smother me slowly. I'm not the hero nor am I a savior. So why do I feel the slice of a razor? Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve? Confidential my ass, that's a fucking secret and you know it. Government is another way of saying, better than you. It's like ice but no pick, a murder that won't stick. You can taste the food, but you can't touch the silverware. Hmph, what luck. In the end it all equals the the thought we send. The thought of dying and never trying. The shame of knowing but not showing. Step forward and take charge. Never stop moving. Keep the gun oiled and the temple clean. Let the heads cool and the engine run. Cause in the end, everything we do, is just everything we've done.

Is this the end? Or do we just go again? I sit waiting, hoping, hating, but never knowing the time to jump forward and take what I need to want. I'm a pig, a scum, but never a bum. For I try to stay away from the ones that take the life out of a gun. Never knowing or showing, just flowing with the never-ending stream of traffic we call life. I can't seem to shake the thought or make a spot where it will all end. And so my mind I bend to form the way everyone wants, but yet it haunts my mind and I can't stop the pain from rushing in. So now I wait even though I hate the thought of having this beautiful pain in my neck, like the feeling you get when the sex is good but the conversation sucks. Spiraling down the path of life and stepping through the glass of strife, I know it's there but never here. Will it end or start again?

A time to heal has come. It hits you like a truck doing 80 down the road. I hate this feeling. I try to keep myself calm but all I can see is the red from my eyes. The kind of red you expect to see in a horror movie. It stains my mind in places that we are told most will never use. I don't know why I care. Time goes by again and still she isn't there. I place my hand in front of my face. Hurry to the door. She doesn't see me. My heart beats as if in a race. What am I doing? I can't stop this insanity. It's taking me down the path that I thought was hidden from me for years. Can't sleep. Sleep is for the rich people who can afford to lose a few hours of a waking dream. I have to stay awake. Bang, the truck hits me. Lucky, it was doing 55. I love this feeling.

I never knew you. We never met. We probably didn't even cross each others paths. I don't even know how you died. Though somehow, I can't help but think about what might have been. If we had met, would we be friends? I might have invited you to go camping with me. Would we have grown up together? Maybe we would have been lovers. You could have taught me so much. Maybe I could have saved your life. There are so many things that I can't help but wonder. Were you a good person? Did you ever fall in love? I would like to think that if we had met, then maybe we could have shared these things with each other. I know that our friendship would have been something special. I know that you could have been someone great. I don't know if you are listening. I don't know if you can see this. I do hope, that these thoughts, as simple yet pure as they are, reach you. For I know, that no matter where you are now, you are someone special.

.....seconds tick by. We sit here staring at the clock with blank expressions. Our minds in total and complete oblivion. Not a single thought creeps into our heads. Utter disolution. The rest of the world is on hold while this little hand, this seemingly unimportant tiny rod counts down our lives. Never wavering, never ending yet constantly ticking. The sounds that are all around us have been muted. They are no longer audible. Even with all their volume, we hear nothing except for the intense pounding of another second. One more portion of our lives has been wasted. Throughout the day, we struggle to ensure that there is enough time to do the things that need to be done. Constantly obsessed with time. Yet the harder we try to save time, the more we fail to realize that it has already passed us by. Every shortcut, every quickened pace is just marked by another tick of the clock. We schedule our days and make attempts at having everything set to a specific time frame. Never knowing that we have to hurry to keep up with this never ending force that controls our lives. Hurry. Faster. You can outrun the clock.....another second ticks by.

A vacation is a countdown, t-minus your life and counting. Time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube and hope to get a taste. What the fuck is all this for? Stand in the way of life and hope that it swerves in time to escape the chance of ripping your face from the very skull you hate. What the hell is going on? For the rest of us there is always Sunday. The day of the week that smells of rest, but all we do is catch our breathes so we can wade naked in the bloody pool and place our hand on the big black book. To watch the knives zig-zag though our fingers. Now the thought of dying doesn't seem so bad. Maybe, we should take a dollar and throw it up high. Letting the wind snatch it from our very existence. If someone catches it, would they throw it back up or keep it like a fool not knowing that it won't be there when they die. And as you look towards the sun, you look towards me and without a single shred of thought you curse my life and let me know that I am loved by all and none.

As we sit here, staring at a lit screen, we fail to realize that our dreams might be passing us by. Never knowing what might be out there for us. All we do is speak words with our fingers. We all do it, yet we don't know why. Maybe our dreams might end up on this screen. Maybe we can change the world with a click of a button. Who knows? Who cares? It's all overrated. Changing the world was a dream of the past. Our goals have become smaller. Not change the world, but instead, change ourselves. We create new identities and new lives so that we don't have to face our true selves. Or maybe, we allow the things we have all denied, to come out and be seen by the ones that might be our dreams. This is me, hate it or love it.