Cream Scene Carnival

The Vampire Lestat

I want to snap him like a glow stick. I am violent about this angelic persistence predator

eyes forbidden-sky blue wild open with yearning

drawn to lick the knife’s edge.

I want a slow-motion replay of him getting punched in the face, fed laudanum and absinthe,

impossibly perfect cheekbones slashed

 by his own daughter’s furious nails.

I want him to kiss the consequences

of every callous thing he’s ever done.

He deserves tuberculosis. Having his hair braided with oil of jasmine. Burning to death on the edge of a forsaken slimy swamp. A massage and a bubble bath.

I want him bleeding out in a gutter, gazing upwards in wonder, still in love with the stars.