Pointing Finger
September 29-30 2002
A face in the blackness of my closed eyes calls.
It was:
the face of Frankenstein -- dead skin and manmade stitches to cover the bone, also -- childlike, new; the mouth of Dracula -- unnaturally alive only by a drink of blood from innocents, also -- ancient, immortal; a young mind and a hungry voice.
I don't really want to die. I would like to live forever, but not belong to darkness or at the cost of innocents.
I don't really want to live. I would like to die today, but not lose the sunshine or at the cost of immortality.
"I want you," a hand appears and points at me.
VCW
