The Porcelain Mask

A porcelain mask upon his face,
He moves with an elegant grace,
Bright red hair burns on his head,
He has a knife made of lead,
A straight back and pointed toes,
Confidence is all he shows,
His arms spread out like two wings,
One holds the knife, silence it brings,
The man won't make a sound,
As the silence gathers all around,
His footsteps creep across the floor,
Like a dancer towards the door,
He opens it without a creak,
He sees you there small and weak,
Sitting there on the floor,
A silhouette, nothing more,
A tear slides across your face,
Death gives you a cold embrace,
As his knife enters your chest,
You know there is nothing left,
Silence gathers all around,
The man leaves without a sound.