The Murderous Thought

The Murderous Thought

It creeps in dark, it bends the mind.

It waits for night, it waits for still.

It whispers low, it stirs the blood.

It grows unseen, it grips the will.

The thought is sharp, it cuts the hand.

It makes the heart beat loud, then loud.

The breath is hot, the skin is cold.

The eye grows wild, the eye grows blind.

You try to hide, but still it climbs.

It claws the brain, it twists the tongue.

It drips with red, it hums with rage.

It will not stop, it will not break.

And when it blooms, the deed is done.

The silence cracks, the red runs wide.

The eyes grow dull, the mouth is still.

The thought has won, the soul is lost.

But even then, it lingers close.

It waits again, it waits for night.

Murderous seeds, once sown, will stay.

It feeds on flesh, it feeds on time.