Black Mass Wedding

Self's colors-change in the modes of wanting, as a chameleon in the daylight, as the seasons fade to black, hunting season where loyalty is clothed in sackcloth, used as a knapsack with monogrammed font. To embellish the pride inside, attacks reason. Game played, war waged against trust and integrity, hair trigger, sights blurred and uncalibrated. Sport saved for fair weather and played-with when in moods of folly-misunderstood as heart's pedigree, but self the only royalty. In the mists where lovers-lie, dormant on the rocks of sacrifice, sprayed and neutered with the scent of the world, blessed by holly-wood burning to ashes, embraced skeletons of Pride's carbon copy fairytale. Convenience, just a behemoth-witch of cull, changes the love's color to grey-scale, when it fits the bill of soul sale. No effort no altruistic deeds, no walls scaled or ride on valiant steed, no searchlight, or care but for selfish greed. Just a crone noose and bonfire of vanity, just a cast of thespian spells playing part in new reality. Scale-weighs, and reckoning's executioner-pendulum swings and approaches with royalties-undertaker with box of pre-fitted manacle rings empty in hand save for null need, as truth-sees eye to eye-darkness looks away, cares not for its deeds, Rewards itself handsomely, a black wedding knot to tie. Vows weigh the truth's true order of things, from it's wheelhouse shipwreck beacon by the sea. Sees souls found wanting, rescue, denied and sees the light go forth from it's spotlight, a disorder to groom with a whore for a bride and open bedroom. A vacancy window, black hole portal that blocks the sunlight from it's boardroom orgy of doom.