The Red Haze

In the lightless depths of the soul he lies,
The everlasting, horrible, ravenous beast,
With crimson eyes he stares at the world,
Growling impatiently for the next bloody feast,
His name, The Red Haze


 He is a slave to his insatiable hunger,
For the rich, crimson liquid, flowing through a man’s veins
Deprive him, and he lunges at you in raging anger,
He rips and shreds through the veil of reason,
Trying to escape the red maze,

The heart thumps like a war drum inside the chest,
Making the vision blur and to see only red,
When the first drop of blood falls upon the crest,
Logic and reason die, lost in the bloodshed,
In a maddening daze


The Haze lunges and his blade parts flesh,
His visage, a vision from the fiery hells,
Blood flows freely from the second smile, rich and fresh,
He basks in joy, when he hears the bells,
Wailing for the life gone, behind that empty gaze


The rush is gone and his hands are wet and slick with blood,
The crimson calls to him and the Haze howls,
His emotions are hit by a torrent of guilt and regret,
And he hopelessly struggles to repent,
But on the edge all that remains , is the red glaze


But the day is done and the blood slowly dries on the edge,
Of the blade with which he parted sinful flesh,
No emotion will drive a wedge,
Between him and his need for a reaping slash,
In the hour of blaze

Now he’s sated and back he retreats,
To the lightless chasm that’s his lair,
Leering happily at their defeats,
Of the men whose bones he flayed bare
And he sleeps contently, until the next fall from grace.

Photo by geralt

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