The Emerald Ivory Figure's Fine Grasp and the Deathblow

An ivory gleaming being
cloaked in bitter cloth
marching beside you
arrests your mind's attention
telling you all sorts of sweet bitter things
showing a crumbling palace splendor and glee
hiding something sinister underneath
that faint and twisted smile.

"Have a smoke, or a drink.
Come. Sit with me."
A table rises from thin air
a siren's song beckons you to sit there
to sip at expiry.

Your head yells at you
but you don't listen

"Her gaze is steady and cruel.
Her aim is straight and true.
She'll land the deathblow upon poor miserable you."

Something of hers touches you
your heart flutters with venom and vice
and beautiful visions that are lovely and false but nice.

Your mind bends and melts
She says nothing.
She doesn't smirk.
Her eyes return a vacant gaze at you.

That foul and beautiful enchantress

the deathblow.

inexplicable beauty of butchery
and flowers
and sweet things.

The ivory figure marches on.
Her gait draws your eyes to her
as she walks with another poor soul

You know his end all too well
you know she'll send him to a bitter happiness: hell.

Her hauntingly beautiful gait beckons you to rise
and fall.