Death Poem

An eerie feeling,
A sound from the cupboard.
A deep breath, a step, or two.
A shaky grasp of a handle.
A swift rip of the arm.
A peer into the cupboard.
Nothing.
A sigh of relief.
A tap on the shoulder.
A breath of pure and bitter evil.
Death.

This is a poem I made for school. No, I am not gothic, the topic was horror, so...yeah.