I am the churning thoughts- turning
in the mind of the killer.  
You are but the stomach in knots-
burning with unease
as you watch the thriller.

I am the tension rising- the swell
to the dwelling mind.
You are but the audience- blind.
Fickly figuring the plot
as it begins to unwind .

I am the blunt instrument- and the brute
that wields the weapon.  
You are but the cross critic-
Cynically disappointed
that there seems to be no lesson.

I am the redemption of an eye for an eye.
I am the blind world it leads to.
I am the bodies left high and dry.
You are the mouth that this world feeds through.