The Crimson

The time comes again,
where I want nothing but one thing;
to feel the metal against my skin.
To feel the sweet Crimson
running on my skin.
The nakedness of the skin,
without the Crimson falling against it,
slowly leaving my body and a rush of oxygen
making it the red that it is.
The virgin skin, touched by the Crimson;
tainting it, making it unpure.
No one wants to touch the tainted skin,
no one wants to see the Crimson for what it is;
a way of life.

The sin that makes me feel good.
The skin tingles, the Crimson is pleased
with the way it feels again my skin.
It's the demon inside me, wanting to let out
and through the Crimson it can.
I try to hold it inside,
but the Crimson is sometimes stronger than me.
The urges become stronger, and I will fight
but sooner or later it'll burst out of me
just to see the outside world once more.