A Gothic Sonnet

The darkness grows. Perhaps it will consume
What little day is left, as time speeds on
To some strange assignation, whereupon
The world will find its purpose, or its doom.
To me it matters naught. My only care
Is for the one I know I must possess,
The one whom I shall carnally caress
No matter what perdition I must dare.
For you, my love, I'd choose that endless fall --
(My special one, whose blood I chose to taste,
Not to extend my life, but in my haste
To share a "little death".) I'd sell it all,
No thought for what affliction may ensue.
What pact would I not make for more of you?