In honor of my "2nd mother" who was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer |
they meet in the ballroom he nods a bow as she curtseys to the floor her arms are weak he picks them up and places one on his shoulder the other in his hand like attaching the strings of a puppet he steps back she follows hand in the air he twirls her with a malicious grin her head is spinning like and unbalanced top yet she stays strong enough grace through the pain because its all bout hope dancing her last she firmly holds the rose in her teeth the rose white and sickly the neck that once stood bright now hangs limp in her clenched jaw silent tears of all those who once loved her fall onto the hard wood but she does not slip her face contorted with a mixture of chaos and peace she never looks down he bends and spins her at his will he is the ventriloquist giving his greatest performance but its just a routine her veined hand sweeps the air and he catches it with precision his black cloak clashes wonderfully terribly with his chalky pallor she flows in loose fitting silk once extravagant her dress now torn and stained it delicately cascades to the floor his final act a devilish gleam in his black eyes his hands ensnare her waist she looks away her arms hang feeble in front of her with a sickening triumphant laugh he lifts her body above his head her back arched her head back blearily gazing upward he does not bring her back down she continues up up up as the world fades to black |