That knife, soaked in crimson blood—
with blood other than yours.
That shirt, once white—now dyed in red,
bloody, yet beautiful, like rose petals.
The moon shone, red and terrifying,
his bloodshot eyes continued to hunt
for more preys to impale his
hungry, sharp blade in.
Oh, why is it that no one stops him?
Well, he smirks, like an ugly monster
with no disguise at all;
Who would dare to stop this?
That smile, like of a crescent moon,
with no face—just black, black, black.
Screams there were, but no one helped;
for they were all slaughtered.
Merciless, hideous, and treacherous.
He was a villain far more evil than any other.
Smiling as he killed, he wore a neat, brown hat.
Previously a gentleman.