Hot Violet.

A man waits.
He perpetually bleeds.
“O Pity , where are you ?”
“Please let me know when you come,” he says.
“Let me be ready for your sharp knife,” he prays.
Smooth grey fill the sulky skies, as Pity creeps in.
Grey gets the mood as she stubbornly hides.
Her momentary stings are with spits of liquid shame,
regardless of name , fame and the rules of the game.
The silence closing in from all around ,
unable to bear.
A hundred knives , magnificent.
A thousand knives lucid.
Pierced ears , deafening.
Clenched teeth, breaking.
But still he says,
“O Pity , you fool,
you make me drool,
both with your beauty and my hunger.
Your knives bend on me “.
He laughs out aloud while he bleeds and becomes dry.
He’s a man with one eye, one leg and an empty heart.
Cheeks red she slowly floats away.
Floats away,along with a sad song
and her own shame she bought along.
The Man grows big with hot blood,
as his shadow too, ominously behind,
his eyes blowing  Hot violet.
It’s blinding heat ,divine.
It’s like he has hundred suns under his throat.
The demons growl along with him.
They were his hidden hunger for human flesh.
He is an animal.
He is a cannibal.
He’s called Anger.
“Ha, Pity , I pity you”