I write Gothic poetry..Poor Soul

A vile creature loomed above,
to leer at at some poor soul.
Which was slowly seeping blood,
from jagged puss filled holes.

All too soon it ventured near,
then sniffed the tepid air.
Intense pleasure swept it's face,
cold eyes a wicked stare.

The malice as it clenched it's fists,
came wafting from its pores .
Sinister evil thoughts had formed,
and sank into its core.

The soul had unshed tears that welled,
encasing blood shot eyes.
And skin so white, a palled shade,
replaced a supple hide.

The creature lunged with outstretched limbs,
capturing it's meal.
Loud shouts reverberated round,
deffining it's kill.