Quietly creaking, the door does open
Arctic wind assailing the senses
Burning pale skin red
Artificial health
Within the room ice covers all
Turning bare soles black
Moonlight from a single window
Insanely bright
A death-pallored ballroom
Crystallized flowers lay among frozen tables
Frost-chilled pictures line the walls
Mocking with silent glee
Memories of bygone torment
A lifetime ago
A few years past
Just yesterday
This morning, perhaps
Teardrops freeze upon corpse-white cheeks
Blood-red tracks
Black-pained feet slap the floor
Ever fast
Never slipping
Quicksilver's path
The door creaks again
Almost too heavy
Then slams shut
Echoing down the haunted hall
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