The grounds are in ruins
and the castle in decay
the hall of mirrors
has been reduced to liquid shards
running downhill
combining into a sharp ****** tidal wave.

Vines hold down the dilapidated stones
and moss creates a damp carpeting
to pad my footfalls
and cradle my arch with gentle porous support.

The living dust of inaction
hiding the biting words of steel
and buried land mines
that rain crimson accusations
when heavens become mirror
and the only image I can see
is myself in destruction.

An army marching indiscriminately
each soldier's face
morphs effortlessly into my own reflection
until I can feel the trigger
cold steel
pressed against my readied finger
revolver steel cooling my temple.

And with wanton abandon
execute this slash and burn campaign
so that where once was
great halls and feasts
there now stands only rubble
a dissolving memory.