At a vexing infernal ball,
The molten ash lights up
An intricate obsidian hall.
The devil walked up to me
Offered a withering lily,
And asked for my decaying hand.
So I waltzed with the devil
Graceful fluid movements,
Like the blood leaking
From my long closed wounds.
Hand in decaying hand,
Ashen footprint by ashen footprint,
We drift further into our moment,
Dancing at the depths of our hell.
The dance will end in its own time.
The inevitable death of the
Minor notes of deprivation draw closer.
My heart starts syncing with the notes,
Tuning it's strings to the icy song in play.
As the ending major chords finish
Their prolonged hymn of fate,
The devil leans over my helpless body
And donates a kiss to my struggling lips,
Ending my life in its entirety.
Now a silent ballroom remains.
A silent ashen body lays stagnant,
And soon fades off into the dust
That decorates the ebony floor.
Two unscorched hands still lay,
But they are frail, and will soon decay.
Apparently flower language is a thing. The lily is important to that. I found it a cool idea to have life be a dance with the devil. I think there's a saying about dancing with the devil. Anyways, I'm pretty sure I'm talking to myself with these notes, but that's okay, because... it just is, ya know?
