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Jerusalem, Israel

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Drowning in black, ash infested water.
The evidence of months of landlocked, shallow sleep.
The blood on the plastic
looks as wrong as the naked skin always sounded on this linoleum.
I always leave your house with dark grey rings under my eyes.
How can you talk about sultry vampires?
How can bloodsuckers exsist in harsh flourescent light?
In these vacant, colourless cabinets?
On these chillingly cold floors?
But yet they do.

Their bloated , infected exsistence undeniable.
As the crimson between my closely shaved, bare wounds,
and the tiles.
As the twelve thousand degrees between your icy, arctic veins
and my desperate teeth.