Each breath's a dose of oxygen, breathed from pink-red lungs.
When oxygen hits an open wound, sometimes the red blood screams.
When iron falls in love with air, the tragedy begins. Rust is evidence of oxygen's lust.
When lightning torches forest, oxygen goes mad, builds halls and towers of flame and wants to obliterate all dry and fibrous things with its red empire, voracious inferno.
When did oxygen's addiction to red begin? As early as when Universe exploded into being?
Today I saw something exposed to air too long. A red mold lightly dusted it, cosmetic and sinister. In a room somewhere, oxygen could be heard to chuckle. Then it danced through the ducts of a red brick building.