Crimson Mask

In the midst of every crimson sky you yonder...Every inch of the moment that he reminisce, thinking of his yesterdays remorse and sweet lullabies...Like a monastic he tried to recall every illusion but not a facsimile. He madly wanted to extract a different one. Then he clinched "I love it." A quotidian habit that always linger on him, imposing a legato. A facade...A fabricated one Responding to every melodic greetings that are sarcastic and not genuine ones. Looking at the blue skies far and distant. The rays of the sun hits his face and clinched "I can hear it." The near-ending medley as he hears it, he concluded "I hate it." A single whisper that changes everything He went to watch the crimson sky Hearing the melancholic night and into the mayhem... he went to the bathroom alone and the lights were off. Not a single glow that can ease his gloom. Blood... Pouring down from his fists he madly loves it. He was a nocturnal. When he turned on the lights he felt his heart pounding. His eyes can't stand it he can hear the piece...allegro Hysterically he cried in fury He looked through the mirror and saw his face covered with blood... His own blood The wall behind... Painted darker in hue He can smell it images...Should he say illusions "No" mirages jabbed his heart a pounding pestle It is a non-fictitious novel No, no it's not he should say Masks...Parades off to set a new play bound to make him crazy ...as the play ends the actors bows the lights fades sounds die the curtains closed seats unoccupied He went at the back... The stage was a dreary crimson sea and the main part went to say goodbye and still I see Tears... rolling from his eyes...