Exsanguinous Poetry Excerpt
When she drained me of my very marrow, and coldCharles Baudelaire, "Metamorphosis of a Vampire" (1857)
And weak, I turned to give her one more kiss - behold,
There at my side was nothing but a hideous
Putrescent thing, all faceless and exuding pus.
I closed my eyes and mercifully swooned till day:
Who seemed to have replenished her arteries from my own,
The wan, disjointed fragment of a skeleton
Wagged up and down in a new posture where she had lain;
Rattling with each convulsion like a weathervane
Or an old sign that creaks upon its bracket, right
Mournfully in the wind upon a winter's night.