In the distance lays the sound of a heart ranching violin,
Softly it mumbles,
Though still it’s heard,
A hallway filled with pictures of ancient art,
Lurking towards the light at the end,
Curiosity sits heavily on the air,
This rusted floor creeks beneath,
A shadowy of demise,
Grasping a sight,
That shall take one’s breath away,
Standing in the middle of this room,
So confidently he play’s this melody,
Tragic,
Peering through the crack,
A sudden stop,
As if he knew,
Her body trembles In fear,
But also in pleasure,
Placing his instrument of hate beside a coffin of black vinyl,
Turing to face her,
As there eyes meet,
Fear taken away,
By a creature so lovely,
Dark hair falls past his shoulders,
Lips chapped and the color of blood,
Skin pale,
Sickly man yet so gorges,
Mystery falls inside a heart cold and worn,
He fascinated by the innocents in her eyes,
Extending his hand in welcome,
Accepting as she pushes this metal door,
Stepping in to have a scream of horror,
A gruesome sight,
The images shift back and forth,
Limbs dangle from the bed post,
Heads hung from the ceiling to copy a chandelier,
Blood smeared fingerprints upon this wall,
Cut open corpses,
Internal organs tact up for design,
A pattern of pain,
Stumbling on her two feet,
His one with the dead,
A creation his own,
An artist of death. |
