The Sun of Midnight

Here in the forest, dark, and deep. I offer you eternal sleep. 
Roses are red, violets are crying. I’m in the asylum.
They say I’m dying. 
The moon is my sun.
The night is my day. 
Blood is my life.
You are my prey. 
The dark is my light.
The fog is my blanket.
Silence is my song.
Death within sight.
I creep, and crawl.
Within the moonlight.
I kill, and hunt.
My skin snow white.
Death sits in a chair
Across from me and watches.
Death sees but has no eyes.
Death knows but has no mind.
We often sit together in the night.
When the day is done,
Death has one move left. 
I have none.
The one who is never moving forwards, 
But is frozen in time for thousands of years,
The wind is your only lullaby.
And when you wail and sib no one even hears.
I am terrifying.
And strange, and beautiful.
Something not every one knows how to love.
Our kind can not experience the simple, wonderful things.
Like the cry of a mourning dove.
The sun is the source of life.
Warm and bright.
But when so much as a streak hits our skin.
We run with pain and fright.
We can’t say the things like,
“Dear, when I’m with you, I can’t feel pain, or distress” 
But we can say things like, “Darling, your my midnight mistress. 
And you’re already in my veins.” 
We think we’re alive. And warm, and bold.
But really, we’re lonely, dead, and cold. 
Never moving forward. Never gaining years.
But we lose too many tears.
The night and day.
 The Yins and Yangs.
But, we consume blood by using fangs. 
Sharp and cold
Non merciful and defying death. 
You’ll regret wandering into the woods, on your dying breath.