He's a cat, an opposite it says norms, can we chat, unlike the majority to dwell, rushes him to sleep; just before the dawn: a bat.
His home, like most folk, inside rooms, bedrooms, holds beds not touched, not so strange, rush low; he zooms: into his coffin.
A norm person, viewing an image of a man, seen hairless, never shave, on to kill, do a stranger acts; blood won: his breakfast.
Early sun rises, at home, dome looks quite empty inside, come evening to flash shadow, daily see; active comes dark form.
He, blend into the darkness, all in black, hunt a bend seeks red drink, sucking others blood trend; bite stopping hunger: goods.
A man, not as anyone, you know, show for the blood its deeds, he's not buried low, but full dead; unknown gate: a vampire.
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