The Face Collector

In shadows deep where the dead lay,

A young woman walks, hidden from day

Her steps are silent, and her eyes blaze

Two glowing points, floating through the haze

With fingers white, she plucks at skin

From faces of people, her eyes drew in

Their features lost to her greedy hands

Hair plucked from the skin, strand by strand

Beneath the moon's haunting glow,

Skin from the faces are stretched and sewn

Into a mask she wears at day

So all suspicions are pushed away

Without these faces, her existence will end

So every night, she continues the trend

So lock your doors and make sure to hide

When she comes near, you'll see eyes glowing outside