Masquerade.

Half moon smiles
And vinegar lips
The taste of blood
And interior secrets.

White gloved hands
Black canes and cloaks
Masks of beauty
And coterie folk.

Five white lies
And sixteen fake histories
Just another event
In the masquerade mysteries.

The clock hand ticks once
His heart, it beats twice
The feel of the night
Decides if he’s naughty or nice.

Six minutes in
His body is wanting
Something that he needs
But the thought always haunts him.
The crimson red stuff
Which pumps through ones’ veins
That is the thick juice
That he now craves.

Out through the hall
He skulks into the night
And stumbles across a couple
Who he gives a very big fright
“Stay very still
And you won’t feel a thing,”
He croons to his captives
His deep voice trembling.

In a flash of white teeth
And two screams lost into the night
He replaces his mask
To hide his satisfactory smile, small and tight.

Half moon smiles
And vinegar lips
The taste of blood
And interior secrets
White gloved hands
Black canes and cloaks
Masks of beauty
And coterie folk.

Five white lies
And sixteen fake histories
Just another event
In the masquerade mysteries…