This is a poem about Angel and Spike, our two ensouled vamps, living with what they've done. I have horrible pentameter but go with it.

We walk in the shadows
Unseen by man
Those of us not born to die
Undead and Undying

The sun does not shine its arms of vindication
On the lonely faces of
Those of us not born to die
Weary yet Unsleeping

God does not know us
And we know not of him
Those of us not born to die
Hungry yet Unfeasting

Clawing hands of faceless victims
Killed by those of us not born to die
Lusting yet Untouching
It is hard, but do we not deserve it?