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...
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