Walking up to the edge,

I face the abyss,

death screams through my blood,

at mortality’s kiss.

 

Do I step forward,

or do I step back?

I feel it so close,

on this cold ruthless track.

 

No one has noticed,

what’s happening within.

The clues are all there,

so pale, cold and thin.

 

Dancing the waltz,

life partnering death,

my demon will steal,

my last precious breath.

 

He will feast on my spirit,

and defile my soul,

as we dance the last dance,

with my blood running cold.

 

 

© The Last Dance 2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Lilith (1892) by John Collier in Southport Atkinson Art Gallery (Photo credit: Wikipedia)