The Dance of Dances Will You Take My Hand
My eyes gaze into twin hollow sockets. Behind it, a trail leading over the hill to a sepulcher. A ghastly cloaked apparition offers its hand. Bones intertwined with my flesh fingers. Waltzing, twisting, flora maelstrom around us. Verdant lush at our feet, hue shifts as we sweep. Beneath the umbra of silhouettes, a flurry of yellow. Behind us, grass blades turn to ashes, dissipating. Footfalls a tempest burst our past to wasteland. As we dance, hips sway our life on this gray line. Jump, orchestra piano solo, arms extend, violin string slips. Partner vanishes, I drop into a glass sarcophagus. Lid slams, scream as dirt pours in, shrieks are snuffed.You will find me in the garden, back turned. Windstorm of petals, I’m in the center there. I turn and offer you my hand, and the howling goes quiet. Snarl like grin spreads my countenance. Skin slowly peels, curls, and flakes away. Muscle, sinew, flesh are torn and ripped into the fray. Worms, maggots, beetles all engulf my frame. Meld, fuse, and forge into my black cloak
For now, I am death incarnate. To lead you to your mausoleum crypt. “Are you ready to dance with me?”
Copyright © Beatrix Macabre | Year Posted 2024
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