And when I awoke, I was hungry. Eager to discard my suffocating skin and devour something fresh, something alive. So I sank my fangs into some poor girl’s thought of “maybe” and become something new. Something reckless and fearless. Something with fangs and fight. A monster by the world’s standard. A god by mine.
I swallowed the ethereal wisps of the girl’s “maybe”, the shy essence of a soul very much alive, and slipped back between warm covers. But in the cauldron deep inside my spirit, something began to boil over. A wrong ingredient or two, a spice I should never have added. I’d been poisoned by hunger.
Dreams painted in crimson blood and splashes of hospital white had shifted, morphed into fantastical scenes of glittering and slithering silver snakes. Apathetic desires had turned dark, morphed into a strange lust that stirred beneath moonlight and darkness.
The silver dreams are gorgeous. Pieces of butterfly wings held up to moonlight. They thump wildly in the caverns of this dark heart with reckless abandon. The dark desires still them with a sense of terror. Create silence between the thunder of my heartbeat. I am caged between fangs and fearlessness, caught up in the cosmic fight between euphony and cacophony.