piroette in grey disdain

The most interesting conversations take place in the least illuminated corner of any room,
The place where those concerned with seeing
      and being seen
      don't venture
      as it may throw a dirt streaked veil across
      a brightly varnished countenance.
I wallow in this,
It's painting my skin with the exact shade of battleship grey I feel within
Or am I just transparent here?
Beyond the cellophane wrappings there's a wind
swirling the parking lot litter in a grand piroette
across the ballrooom
This rotted little castle still stands,
fragmented and frayed yet upright, the thorns and thickets guarding a vast labrianth below in the bowels of this beast
Standing here within the decayed corpse of a massive mechanized monster, I feel no sense of horror
Just a vague disdain-
Passing guilt at my callousness when faced with a vignette of mortality
and it's failings.