In shadows cast by lamppost lights,
A predator stalks the island nights.
His weapon can be a blade or gun,
Fueled with liquid fire, the devil’s rum.
He lifts the glass with trembling hands,
A fragile man, built on sinking sands.
The amber poison, smooth and cold,
Transforms his soul, turns flesh to bold.
With every sip, the world distorts,
Morality bends, and truth retorts.
The whispers rise, the demons call,
From within the depths of his mental sprawl.