The Vampire

I speak in hushed tones
about a shadow of a man.
He creeps and stocks my dreams,
in the shadows he is like steam.
He is a vampire to me.

Bats,
and screams,
ghoulish he seems,
with fangs,
starts banging on my windows paine;
leaving his mark,
now I feel no pain.

He leaves within a twinkle of an eye
grimace macabre and ghostly spark.

You'll find me under his might,
as his clock whips by my windows screen.

I wake to find he was not a dream,
I see him now standing over me with a gleam in his eye.