Don’t look, cover it up
There’s a story, in which, my eyes shut;
The protagonist at fault, for I exalt
Death, and his graceful waltz-
A hand offered once, refuse I shall not
Tiptoe through Time’s chambers and vaults,
To a cacophony of beats, infant and aged;
Slowed and fast paced, Life holding decay
To her own gorgeous, revolting face.
And I turn my eyes away, to sway
In darkness and its deep embrace,
To mellifluous moans of pain.
A ****** display.

-SLuR