Pink Satan

Pink Satan, young woman in Satin, perfume of Jasmine.

Scent of some subtle and unspoken sin, beguiling truth.

               Pink Satin, soft and smooth as the deathless kiss.


               Ballroom of conspicuous and archaic finery, a relic.

               The golden lights, like summer sunset, show the skull

               Behind her inviting face, the death I chase with her.


               The song is sweet, but the honey has the sting

               Of uncertain brokenness, not seen by people perfect.

               Honey sweetens, and fattens and makes the angel sleep.


               The night so holy, so perverse in it’s innocence, inconsequence.

               Morning comes, and that gown that makes me want something,

               Unnamed and dreaded, will still be beautiful, but so fucking useless.


               Dancing the night away, as outside the cold comes, death waits patient,

               And the dreams of blood and pain still bleed in poisoned rivers, dead trees,

               And the empty houses that hold only a demon’s court and curtsy.


               Unnamed and dreaded, it’s beautiful and hallowed, but so fucking useless.


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