Basilisks & Bullet Trains

Heartless, a monster with no name.
Void of all sorrow, the cause of all pain.
The monster strikes back once, two times, and again.
A king among demons, the monster haunts the slain.
A world without sound, a city without light.
A building without walls, and an urge you can't fight.
The urge to give in, to forget all the unforgiven.
A waltz of death, hand in broken hand, we pivot.
Dancing in the skies, black hearts and lies.
Mind still sharper than a razor; we cut off all ties.
Be it real or fake, from bullet trains to basilisks.
We determine your fate.
Your silence is overrated.
We learn from mistakes, that nothing else remains.
When nothing else remains, death grows closer.
The electric shock, hollow spaces, and burning sores.
You've got total free will, the decision is all yours.
It seeps through your pores, more than that, your core.
The infiltration of your conscience, the reason people start mosh pits.
The adrenaline, the rush.
The cynic's cold touch, mustering power through the musk.
The perfume of rot, the corpses make mountains.
From basilisks to bullet trains, even small fountains,