I can’t move but they dance.
I can’t breathe but they dance.
I can’t speak but they dance.
It’s so dark down here but they still dance.
Dancing gracefully, the salsa of the evil dead.
Evil for the sake of letting me suffer.
Each step and swing they make memorizes me.
They are truly beautiful ones.
How can they move so gracefully when they appear to be paper thin?
Bags of bones, dust, and rotted flesh fox trotting under the moon.
They laugh and howl through the grey mists.
They summon ones they only see worthy of their neverending dance.
I’ve been here for nearly 100 years still awaiting my turn.
They move freely and joyfully as I lay here sewn to the velvet casket underground.
Please let me join this dance.
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