Dracula

There is a Dracula inside of me,
sucking the very life from me,
draining my veins
of all passion, and creativity.

I used to be so…
something I can’t place.
I used to have a name,
and expressions on my face.

When did things become
so routine, and so cliché?
(I didn’t always feel this way.)
I used to have a goddamn say.

But, you see,
we are dualistic beings,
blending the seams
of folklore, reality.

If I’m harboring a vampire,
I surely have a stake,
and a sink of holy water
to splash upon my face.

Where is Buffy when I need her?
Where is my Van Helsing.

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