The Murderous Mask

Faces shown in abject horror
hidden from the outside world
hunger for a place to roam
free of guilt and full of sin
mirrors trimmed in
phantom lace, crimson
dew upon ghostly skin
primal urges obscured
from an angel’s view

Prying eyes on screens display
the masks held in subconscious
drawers, thick with dust, blood
and more, pulsating deep within
the veins of hunters on
forgotten fields
The prey that run in vain
to see the light of death
forevermore, the weak, the sick
the expendable

Faces blurred in memory
leaving nothing behind to soil
the exuberance of a rage
no longer desired within
the framework of society
Only the predator’s tracks
remaining to haunt the dreams
of spectators until the day
the monstrosity arrives
shining brightly in the
Scarlett sun, with infamous
intelligence to declare
“Frankly, a damn I do not give
for one must die so primal
urges and desires may live.”