"i am death, gore and galore."

at nine of the clock tonight
the dawn will strike with sunset bright
and the show will be sure to please.
our hearts will dance,
we'll take a chance,
the lights will flash,
the cutains will dash,
intentions to appease.

while they beam and while we dream
the backstage will pour out unheard screams
with its drawers full of costumes and secrets.
he'll rip off your mask,
while the onstage voices and music blasts,
and show you the unknown,
while you, entranced, will die alone,
in a bloody pool of regrets.

the audience applauds and awaits scene four
a moment of silence sweeps the stage floor
and a wail of pain is heard.
among feathered masks and dresses of lace,
he blows your mind and steals your face,
the overwhelmed audience watches in awe,
and gasps at the astonishing scene they saw,
surpassing your groans of ache without word.

it's almost ten thirty, nearly time to go
the theatergoers flutter with satisfaction of the show
and leave their amusement at the door.
they gasp and groan with fear and dread,
the corridor stained and filled with red,
your body twitches as you lie by the wall,
and there, your murderer, costumed in a black torn shawl,
whispers to the bystanders, "dear audience, i am death, gore and galore."