The Cutter

In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A figure stalks, with deadly sway,
His heart afire, with cruel delight,
He seeks his prey, for a terrible night.

His name is whispered, in fearful tone,
"The Paper Cutter", a monster alone,
His method unique, his madness grand,
He kills with papercuts, a thousand cuts in hand.

With scissors sharp, and a heart of stone,
He snips and clips, with a precise tone,
Each cut a whisper, a delicate slice,
A thousand times, a slow and cruel device.

His victims tremble, with each tiny pain,
As the Paper Cutter, watches with a insane gain,
Their blood drips slow, like a crimson rain,
As they beg for mercy, in a futile refrain.

The Paper Cutter, a master of his art,
A symphony of pain, a deadly heart,
He orchestrates, each cut with precision fine,
A thousand papercuts, a fatal design divine.

His trail of victims, a gruesome display,
A testament to his madness, night and day,
The Paper Cutter, a monster of the night,
A killer of whispers, a thousand cuts in sight.

So lock your doors, and bar your windows tight,
For the Paper Cutter, stalks through the night,
And if you hear, the whisper of his scissors fine,
Pray for mercy, for it may be your last decline.