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I Think My Friend Matt is a Vampire

Do you know that whenever I see you, itís at night?
Iím beginning to think that youíre a vampire
Locked away in your Brooklyn studio w/ the windows
Painted black, towels stuffed at the slit of the door
 
To keep out rays of New York sunlight. 
You fit the bill somewhat, wearing black 
Every time I see you. You must be one of them 
Contemporary bloodsuckers that has traded in a cape 
 
For a leather jacket. Are you sure you ainít 
From Transylvania? 
A descendant of Nosferatu? 
I have known you for four months
 
& you have made no attempts to bite me on the neck. 
But you do shy away from my occasional
Garlic breath. Open your mouth; I want to see your fangs. 
You gotta be the first creature of the night that I know 
 
that drinks Budweiser instead of blood. 
Instead of feeding off helpless, distressed 
Virgins, you eat smothered pork chops. 
What kind of vampire eats smothered pork chops? 
 
I have only seen you in human form. I want to see you
Turn into a bat or a wolf or something; a body of smoke. 
You donít have the hands of a vampire. 
Youíve got blue-collar palms & nubby fingernails instead of nails as sharp as carpet cutter blades.
Now that I think about it, 
the last time I was in your apartment, 
I thought I saw a coffin. 



So why havenít you bitten me? 
What, Iím not good enough for you, is that it? 
Come on man, bite me, make me, suck me dry. Iím tired of being human. 
Itís so boring. I donít mind drinking blood. 
 
It beats Living off Ramon Noodles & breadless bologna. 
I want to live forever, Matt. 
Hereís my home, business & cell phone number. 
Give me a call when you have decided that Iím worth the gift of immortality. 

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