Danse Macabre

Spend enough time flirting with the abyss and the Grim Reaper will wink at you from it. A chorus of Shinigami sings a hypnotic swan song. The warm ashes of dread and dreams rise to form a stage. This is rapture, the final act, it is curtain call to an audience of none but your weeping mother. Thanatos goads you into a tantric tango, staccato steps to the staccato beat of your Eros heart, he dips you past the edge of reason, you spin with determined abandon, spiralling, unravelling in his arms as loose ends do. You dance like the half-formed epiphanies in your headache, sweat out the almosts and the narratives and the pleases, eyes roll back to the start. Skeletal fingers grip your crumbling flesh, pulling taut the tension between now and nothing, nothing and infinity, infinity and madness, madness and ecstasy. You gasp and taste truth in the air. 

13/01/21