In the dead of the night,
In the stray of the light,
On a platform of grey stone,
Moon, the color of chrome.
Broken pillars and boulders,
A lurking sickly odor.
A beautiful figure dancing alone,
Dancing in front of an empty throne.
Dancing as the body’s hit the floor,
Skeletons getting up from the floor as time moves slower.
Skeletons in tattered suits and dresses,
The souls that didn’t leave your wicked eyes.
Eyes full of innocent,
Heart full of acceptance.
All you see is the apocalyptic view of hell and the dead,
But she sees the beauty in their hearts, not the faces of dread.
To her, they are her company, her audience and the ones to whom she tends,
Only the lost, the out casted and the damned could comprehend.
Abandoned by the ones she loves, now they are her family but her humanity she bled,
She was the soul for these dancing dead…
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