Killing is an art, a passion,
A lucid and deadly sensation.
A touch of poisoned breath,
Each moment a tragic death.
Fire burning beneath the skin,
Crafting darkness, echoing sin.
A masterpiece of moan and sigh,
Lay them soft, watch them die.
Fingers tracing silver blades,
Every night, the shadow fades.
Every morning, he rises again,
Seeking pleasure, begging for pain.