After you’ve been pricked, prodded, and poked, pretty, little, crimson vials of your blood are shipped off to a lab, never to be seen again.
But what happens after it’s been tested? Is your blood fed to vampires in government warehouses to keep them from prowling the streets and feeding on people? Is it stored away in towering, futuristic refrigerators along with thousands of other samples for further experimentation?
i change with the hues of the leaves,
ease into each new identity with a breeze,
waiting for the me that feels pleased,
appeased by shifts in pace,
eager the learn the curve of each new face,
universal ghosting’s my only saving grace,
i’d always felt so out of place,