GothicBuffy
Slayer
Cohen's poem inspired me to post one of my own. Thanks @Cohen ! It's not fantastic or anything but it was fun to write! It's based on the premise of what if Spike moved to boston, and you're his roomate. There's other stuff going on in this poem but its Spike centric. Anyway. Let me know what you think pls!
william the bloody moves to boston
Spike brushes the hair from my neck.
I will pretend that he isnt thinking about biting me
Or that fact that we live in the Big City now.
Our city: palace for the undead, rough on pavement, the bitter sky.
Back Bay station lives in the shadow of a church and a Saks 5th avenue,
It is a city made for stealing.
Spike practices dropping his r’s in the bathroom mirror.
Swooshes his leather duster with his hips,
He is shorter than he thinks he is.
He is a man inside
of a big belt buckle. He thinks black makes his shoulders
look broader.
I think he's forgotten how to read
anything besides poetry. I know he still writes.
When I dream about blood I know
it's something about the way the city is moving at night.
Spike convinces me to run across train tracks in Mattapan. “Jump!” he laughs,
and smashes his bottle on the ground.
He sways like each motion must be followed to completion.
Afraid that standing still makes him just a corpse.
He has lost taste for the supernatural and instead consumes just the super:
He is neon light in an underground bar and he takes three olives with his drink. He steals lipstick and paints his nails with vigor.
He stands in crowds after the theaters get out.
Watching him eat the night.
I think Spike would like the ocean even though he bristles like a dog when I run the bath.
Some say vampires can't love, but that's not necessarily a prerequisite
for devotion.
Vampires can be friendly:
Sometimes Spike will notice when I am tired.
This is something I've been asking for forever.
We watch Dracula on the couch.
“Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings,” says Dr Seward.
The next day, Spike starts moving crypt memorabilia into his room.
He hates the west coast because he needs to,
and admires too loudly
Boston's oldest cemetery.
Selfishly I'm glad he stays here.
I don't think he eats people anymore but it's rude to ask.
Sometimes a bloodsucker needs a place to stay:
I didn't need convincing to open my door.
These are perhaps personal flaws, but danger has always felt far away.
I tell myself it is unlikely that I will die
walking in an alley, life is too boring for a swift end.
I brew coffee for two now. This is domesticity
without the certainty.
Spike was once named William.
I ask him to pay rent and pretend I am talking to a man.
Spike is the alleyway. He is the improbable end.
william the bloody moves to boston
Spike brushes the hair from my neck.
I will pretend that he isnt thinking about biting me
Or that fact that we live in the Big City now.
Our city: palace for the undead, rough on pavement, the bitter sky.
Back Bay station lives in the shadow of a church and a Saks 5th avenue,
It is a city made for stealing.
Spike practices dropping his r’s in the bathroom mirror.
Swooshes his leather duster with his hips,
He is shorter than he thinks he is.
He is a man inside
of a big belt buckle. He thinks black makes his shoulders
look broader.
I think he's forgotten how to read
anything besides poetry. I know he still writes.
When I dream about blood I know
it's something about the way the city is moving at night.
Spike convinces me to run across train tracks in Mattapan. “Jump!” he laughs,
and smashes his bottle on the ground.
He sways like each motion must be followed to completion.
Afraid that standing still makes him just a corpse.
He has lost taste for the supernatural and instead consumes just the super:
He is neon light in an underground bar and he takes three olives with his drink. He steals lipstick and paints his nails with vigor.
He stands in crowds after the theaters get out.
Watching him eat the night.
I think Spike would like the ocean even though he bristles like a dog when I run the bath.
Some say vampires can't love, but that's not necessarily a prerequisite
for devotion.
Vampires can be friendly:
Sometimes Spike will notice when I am tired.
This is something I've been asking for forever.
We watch Dracula on the couch.
“Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings,” says Dr Seward.
The next day, Spike starts moving crypt memorabilia into his room.
He hates the west coast because he needs to,
and admires too loudly
Boston's oldest cemetery.
Selfishly I'm glad he stays here.
I don't think he eats people anymore but it's rude to ask.
Sometimes a bloodsucker needs a place to stay:
I didn't need convincing to open my door.
These are perhaps personal flaws, but danger has always felt far away.
I tell myself it is unlikely that I will die
walking in an alley, life is too boring for a swift end.
I brew coffee for two now. This is domesticity
without the certainty.
Spike was once named William.
I ask him to pay rent and pretend I am talking to a man.
Spike is the alleyway. He is the improbable end.
Anyanka Bunny Slayer
That's brilliant! ❤️
