Dance of Narcissism
Blurry figures wade through colours of a thousand rubies
The odds even lost beforehand
Warm blood trickling down his skin
Black veils waving at the morbid dance of narcissism
Silver brilliance of the blade
Inviting Death to do his part
But his suffering is prolonged
As his martyrdom is the virtue of their acquisition
Waiting until the final stroke is performed
to rest, and let the calm of death
take over and put him out of his misery
Justified torment for culture's sake
Cowardly voyeurs, presumptuous lowlife
Flower petals falling from the sky
Covering up his final deathbed