The Darkness

As the darkness fills the sky and the moon so red like a freshly cut vaine lights its way. The air with a cool chill that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as if you've just opened the doors to the county morgue on a cool November morning. But a last, it's not the darkness of the sky or the blood from the moon. It's your eyes growing dimmer and your blood spilling to the floor as your life fades away by my hands. That's darkness, darkness of a serial killers soul.