Sanguine Lust

The Moon is red, reflecting in our eyes,
Distressing dreams with poisoned faerie fronds.
The pixies run amok and lend us lies
Of blood and hate, revenge is breaking bonds.

The Pucks are demons, cradled by our lust.
They curdle blood; it slithers through our souls.
While knives appear to hold our hapless trust,
They open doors where lives are solely tolls.

We rend, we rip, we cauterize the heart,
All hormones wreaking filth on troubled death.
When beauty seeks to take itself apart,
Our blood has left its dewdrops on our breath.

Tonight the moon shall shine upon our deed.
From lust to grave that opens heartless greed.