Of the earth, a creature
Born only to beckon death
Battered, torn and pale, alone in existence
He desires the sun’s descent,
Longs for the white of the moon’s reflection
Dragged from graves he’s exhumed,
Corpses- his desperate vice
The tide has come
His lust is strong
A dweller of nocturnal scapes
Reflecting pallor through mirrored realms,
Drifting posthumous dust lines sub-terrain walls
By day he bellows and howls in loathing contempt
For the humans who left him to suffer
Unable to cope with his struggles
He perpetuates his sub-level existence

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