When I last saw young Brian on the ward,
his mouth was red. Blood seeped from the side of
his lip. He opened his mouth wide for me,
revealing a chunk of glass on his tongue.
It had raked bloody ditches in his mouth,
but still he smiled.

                       Its my source of power,
he said. Chewing diamonds. Theyre all carbon,
yknow. All that pressure and pressure pow!
A beautiful stone. Not alone, alone.
Teeth and sparks. Carbons in batteries zap!
Electric. All those pressures and charges.
Power. Were all carbon-based life forms. Yeah.
Im the vampire. I suck electric.
Diamonds are power, like the Southern girls
who scratched their initials on their windows
with their engagement rings, to see if their
suitors gave them diamonds or paste. Power.
The blood in my mouths no problem. Tastes like
iron. Iron and diamonds. Earth products.
The Earths my battery, my power source.
I want to be the diamond, not the paste.

By now the blood dribbled down his chin.
I called the attendants, who seized him by
the shoulders, and squeezed his cheeks till the chunk
of glass, ruby-red, squirted through his lips.
As they dragged him to the infirmary,
he screamed, Youve taken my power away!

And he was right.



[Poet's Note: This piece is done in blank verse, and is based on a true story.]

04/17/2002

Posted on 04/17/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt