unknown parasite

Unknown, my mind crushed beneath its own weight. Cloned streetlights, America, wet slick domains for cars to mow down. Unknown is where the road goes- bends, pulls, turns, recedes until it disappears like my body into dust and erodes my promising mouth. This place is no longer mine for I am a prisoner of my own bodily temple. My head swells with fever and will not cool like your affections. Today we spoke in the hallway, you put that parasite label back onto me. Unknown are the moans that echoed off my ceiling when I kissed you. Outside was the United States, an open forest to run through naked; but not here, I'll wear my red dress tonight as a cosmic fuck off.
You bask in what you think you believe, which only gives you bloody guilt to wear as it soaks through your white t-shirt in my nightmare. These useless tokens of time add up to something for every other person, but lately I would rather die than count the moments until, until, until. You are so infected with your own dick, counting the days till some silly vaginal rhetoric eats your aura. Though I'm wearing the mask for you, I cannot be her and do not want to.
I have my heart on my hands. It beats, thumps out an archaic symphony, and goes to bed before the witching hour always. For so long, this heart, ashamed, guilty, afraid, gullible, has paid its fines on this prisoners island. I have my love to spare the world. It completes me but offers not one tense moment like you did weeks ago. And now, we have lost the game. You bore down on me, took advantage of my weakened knees and my girl smile all for a fear you emit.
Unknown is this holding cell, people make phone calls about my conditions, run tests, sap blood, flick urine, but they don't understand. Inside, I've wretched my life from its own grasp in your honor and to your horror. These keys, in my pocket, they wont take me any further away from here because tomorrow is written with bones and ink; until the well runs dry I'll keep slashing and burning my skin.
Today you were rock star stunning, but hope was flowing down a river of bullshit. The vampire that I am is something you create because you are scared to taste the blood. These chances, for men with dance cards full of promise of breeding soon. Unknown is my womb to the cavernous desert that is my existence at this stage. Pretending this will pass like stone, keeps me here on this plane a little longer.
When I realized you were just like them, the world fractured like stained glass suicide until all the souls came marching into the light.
I see you swallowing the girls around you like a prince without a crown. Though I'm quite tempted to murder you, I'll murder myself slowly in your glory hole. Just because I am a vampire doesn't mean i lust for your flavor of blood. These days pass clockwise, cock wise; fracturing my limbs and testing my sex. Boy you are in your own tiny world of shit. My days, my own, unknown to you or anyone. When I die, I'll die alone and unknown. No one knows what my shoes feel like; high heeled, crimson, and torturous to parade with. I only get stigmata at the disco, like Patricia Arquette.