I preach my lies. An emotional affair, I whisper the personal desires of the people before me, and pretend they are my own. I play my own hedonism on the covetousness of the faceless naive. I get the chance to wear all of my masks, and what pretty masks they are. The world plays thru my eyes in a scarlet paradise, and I convince them all that what I want is what they want. In doing so, I fulfil their desires. They want to see a grand spectacle, don't they?
The crowd wants to see a show, a performance. I drink their blood, fulfilling my fleeting desires and whims; and they drink mine and get to sate their lust for a darkened anti-hero they feel a need to understand. They don't want a normal, mundane hero, otherwise they wouldn't be in this theatre. Is it wrong of me to use the boys and girls that stand before me to fulfil my narcissistic lust? Probably, but I never said it wasn't.
So I finish my performance, in blood red bacrode and a kabuki mask. The audience leaves, fulfilled for their desire for black hearted hysteria. And we shrink back into the shadows. The body under neither is torn, covered in scars they carved head to toe that ooze crimson reminisce. I could heal them I suppose, but that would take away my immortality, now wouldn't it? The pain is overwhelming, and I constantly feel like my veins are made of glass. Despite the masks I wear, I am crippled beyond repair. Deception is the only way to relieve my burden, even if only for a second.
No matter what you see in my eyes, it's a lie. Yet you remain. Pray for an end to our deception.