Color of Bone

I feel the color of bone,
the vampirical evidence
is stacked against me.

Blood nonetheless letting
trickles in channels cut in stone
gathers in a pool.

I bathe in it--guilty,
beating my drum with a femur,
I feel the color of bone.

Dead and still waiting to die,
it's no wonder the brightness
burns me to ashes and dust.

Don't choose the fangs;
to live dead is not life,
awake rather to the light.

True immortality is free.
I feel the color of bone,
don't do what I did to me.