they blend in with the typical mortals of the city's busy
sidewalks and streets, but if you catch a glimpse of their
bitter smile, you'll know better. you'll realize the instant
their chalk-white fangs show as they curl their lip in a
sardonic Cheshire cat grin, scoffing at our foolishness.
in the sundown shadows of the city, they take cover
as one of us - like one of us. but if not shielded from the sun,
that shall be their last sunrise. so before day breaks, they
hide out in their coven with curtains closed. inside, slim
sophisticated figures with skin so pale, where clean-shaven
men wear suits as the women fit into dresses where nothing
is left to the imagination.
their flawless features do not compliment their
ways of sustenance and survival, I'm afraid. be careful
as you linger in the darkness, for strings of garlic and
flashlights cannot save your soul, my friend...