My Unholy Curse

 
The warmth of the fresh crimson
Blankets the soul like it impedes the vision
Steam still lingers forth, then dissipates
The end of one  soul's suffering so great

No hell can contain, capture or maintain
The illusion of instinct so deeply ingrained
Where the dead dance yet lay restrained
Attempting survival, the living wait in pain

Dying now, knowing how the end came to be
I heard the sounds of one suffering so violently
I now see the tortured sounds came from me
And the gravity of what I've done now come to me

My pain will now last eternally
And so it has been written
My agony forever directed inward perpetually
My bittersweet punishment for allowing being bitten

(this was my very first non-musical poem way back when)