Dark poet

In the footsteps of a murderer
I followed him till here,
The road so far was dusty
With a thunderstorm of fear.

He leaves a trail of blood behind
Revenge is on his heels,
Guilt but haunts his sleepless dreams
A murderer that kills.

I see him far ahead of me
He holds an open knife,
That grows out of his fingered fist
To take a living life.

I see him pull it back to strike
Innocent blood to spill,
A poison fang, a venom claw
To tear the midnight still.

Then suddenly I blink my eyes
I see my moving hand,
It holds a dagger in the air
To strike at my demand.

And looking back I realise
That the murderer is me,
While writing and creating
Spilling blood in fantasy.

Dark poet writing murder
Though imagining’s not real,
It is my hand that spills the blood
My pen that makes the kill.