Red moon rising, I see it through a blooded haze. Ocean waves lap the cliffs in ruby tongues tasting the trees that hang in a precarious disdain for gravity. The world is odd. The world is strange. Or is it me?
Higher and higher the moon does flow in an ever-increasing arc of death. A silent hunter, the blood moon takes to the heavens. There are no stars, no light, just a crimson cruelty. The sky is wrong. The sky is evil. Or is it me?
I watch the churning waves incapable of containing so gargantuan a reflection. Either that, or they have better sense than the pools that are my eyes, wells without depth. For I want it all: the blood; the lives; the death, everything.
I am no longer the man I was, I know that now. I am the night, the moon, as one with the universal void. I am Eternal and forever shall be.
You, my dear, are not.