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Cold blood

Stains on the floor

Make sure I've locked all the doors

Dead skin

Peeled bare in frigid wind

Life ends as I grip the pen

They die where the story begins

Ink like poison

Cold hands

Scribe my demands

I've penned a wasteland

Dead eyes

Words brought to life

I won't let them take me alive

A trail of bodies in this body of lies

Pages torn and ink bled dry

Lives taken

Fractured spines

Skin ripped from bone

Words stripped from the page

Carved into a headstone

Cast into the grave

Another night spent alone

Pen, paper, and a corpse to call my own

At times I question how they died

But I'm afraid I’ve always known

Blood spills like my inkwell

The way this pen kills is such a fucking thrill

Its such a fucking thrill

Horrors

These are my confessions

My poetic possession

A folklore of gore

I dip my pen for the encore