“It is one of the considerable privileges of art that the horrible can be transformed, through artful expression, into beauty.” – Baudelaire
“Nothing burns like the cold.” – George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
 |
| sinkinginsociety |
The tombstone, angled slightly askew,
tumbled out of bounds
with a weedy surround
Miss Daze stood, in wind her hair flew,
in tears from all the sound
coming from cold ground
Flames they shot, forked vehemence,
voice from grave beneath
a mouth without teeth
A door revealed, viewed with vengeance,
Swaying she was sure to be
chanting a nether decree
A demon red, he stood in great haste,
and with a beastly shove
grabbed Miss Daze from above
Sinister the dance, in smoky and hellish taste,
Passion’s rigor is restored
Forcing open Deaths door
