Pretending to be me, a well-paid blonde Appears to host my Instagram account, Engages with my followers, replies Politely in my “voice,” negotiates All sponsorship requests, promotes my book. Before I died, I didn’t taste success. My maker, who bestowed the gift, arrived When I was 55, revealed how to Shape-shift witnessed by the moon’s upturned face. Spoiler alert: that’s not in my memoir. Fresh blood that energizes vamps must be Emboldened by passion — a desire For living, the best nourishment on which to feed. Next comes exhilaration: plan the hunt, Select the prize. No matter what you’ve heard, Blood type’s no concern — just vibrancy. Another cut involved text deemed obscene Because I gushed: “The kill! My lord, the kill!” Imagine this: blood pumping, spurting straight From puncture’s wounds, red tears in human flesh, Aromas coppery, sweet pungent sweat, As it’s consumed, tonight’s hot chalice drained. Instructions newbies need were all excised. My lawyers helped combat that censorship. Click on the link to join my master class. Ten percent off — if you pay by midnight.
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo (she/her), a four time nominee for The Pushcart Prize, is a member of SFPA, British Fantasy Society, and Dramatists Guild. Her books include: “Women Who Were Warned,” “Messengers of the Macabre,” “Apprenticed to the Night,” and “Vampire Ventures” (Alien Buddha Press). Forthcoming in 2024: “Cancer Courts My Mother.”
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