Writer Of Horror Poem by Eddie Morales

A dark and stormy night it was, and I,
Who should have better known, from protocol
Too well I wrote myself, knew then I'd  die,
By dawn, among the graveyard stones and all.
My wheels, stuck in the mire, had spun around
A thousands times, and my escape was foiled.
Again, my muddied boots touched filthy  ground
As out my truck I stepped, with shovel soiled,
As soiled as any blackened heart might be,
And waited for what would not take to crypt.
The rain felt hard, I could not fairly see,
But I could hear the wooden coffin ripped.
I took her icy fangs, the burning bite,
And now we reign as deities of night!