11 November 2012
Happy 700th birthday, I never get old, the world revolves around me, my skin deathly cold.
Day or night it means nothing to me, no weakness to make me fall, My mother was human, my father the living dead, quite the confused call.
I crave for a liquid of red, I sometimes feel it would be better dead.
Others like me run from the light, for them it would mean the end, many have come and many must go, such a ritual trend.
Humans don't understand us, they say we are like beasts, maybe they are right, served up for the evening feast.
They think nothing of me, I walk with them by day, to know my truth, would cause great dismay.
Day Walker • Opuss № I