Guise

Wearing my mask,
Its two cylinders, make them ask
Themselves, "Is that a splattering of red paint?or....blood?"
Large, black, spikes, one on both sides, one on the front,
A "stay away" message, blunt.
Black, oil slick chains drape down in loops, from the front, against my neck, they brush,
Making me blush,
Reminding me of my gunmetal and steel endoskeleton,
The strength that resides within me to reduce a person to a skeleton.
My mask is my guise,
Hiding them from the monster of their demise,
Hiding my perverse, morbid, tendencies, and desires,
Behind a disguise that has ruined empires.
A false, innocent, tough facade, like so many others,
Except...I'm not one of those dudders.
 
I smell iron, and see red,
A world hidden in shadowy etiquette,
Life and death, waltzing away,
And then stomping to the beat,
Infront of everyone, yet secret,
In platform boots,
Extending me from my paleolongitudes,
Into undoubtable verisimilitudes,
Of the joy of their real dangers,
Of playing god with strangers,
Of a grim demise, hidden beneath the cover of night,
A brief kiss, not from me, but from Death, and hidden from the world, until dawn's first light.
 
Is that paint? Or blood? ...You decide.