Spotlight on the windy mistress
Her pirouettes stir petals
Leaves rise and fall at every somersault
Impressing the seven devils
Each one malefic in a different sense
Eloquent in a heavy mist
They allude at their brethren sins
Blight corrodes a suggestive audience
Death’s caress plays maestro in the sound check
When the carrion pick sinner from the jest of what’s left
Our windy mistress will play tribute
To the harlequin slaughter

Slither slither
I’ll strike you between your heart and your spine
The area said to be the most divine
A small pocket dimension ignited by a severed head
And the pocket change dropped amidst the river styx
The dead cry out for deliverance
If only they know of how meaningless this riddle is
So in exchange for your ignorance
I’ll slither slither
To my heart’s desire

The sky is overcast today
and I am soul alone
I let my emotions fall where they may
So I won’t be so accident prone
Since the last incident turned my heart to stone

The only deity of this menagerie
is trapped in a music box under lock and key
Never do I dare display
The dignity of its symphony

lacerated in innocence
Mortified until she was convinced
Her entire life had lead up to this

Now she strokes tenebrous scars
and only chimes during rainy daze

To grieve in discordant echoes

There is a primordial groove that eludes brevity and alludes to heavenly steps caught between breaths. It exudes an archaic depth and consumes in rhythmic hues of reds greens and blues, fours threes and twos. It’s measured in winters, and it springs and falls like the heartbeat during the strumming of heartstrings and empyrean elegance.