In the shadows of my mind, a plan’s laid bare,
an alley chosen with meticulous care.
Gloves to conceal the sins of the hand,
a path rehearsed, where dark desires stand.
Each step timed with a predator’s grace,
in the theater of night, I’ve found my place.
I replay the sequence, a morbid refrain,
choke, drag, clean–the echoes of my brain.
Never crossed that line, the deed remains undone,
yet in the depths, I know I could run.
With every rehearsal, I’m lost a bit more,
seduced by the silence I’m yearning for.
I crave the quiet, the absence of sound,
after the storm, when peace is found.
But trapped in this cycle of hypothetical sin,
I dance on the edge of what could have been.
The darkness whispers, a siren’s call,
in the aftermath, I stand or fall.
It’s not the violence that draws me in,
but the stark silence, thick and thin.
A craving for calm like a drug in my veins,
in the pause of the world, where nothing remains.
So I walk the night, a ghost in the gloom,
chasing a silence that might spell my doom.
Yet I hesitate, caught in the fray,
between the darkness and the break of day.