They traipse around their glass

And crystal, mimicking the dance

Of duels fought long ago

Their stance is the same, meant

To inspire fear, but neither

Remembers that with fear comes

A certain price. It manifests

Itself in the imported furniture,

On the chairs they never sit in

And the tables gleaming with the

Jagged reality of their reflections

It is in the potted plants

And the gentle swinging of

Their chandeliers. The pristine

Whiteness of their sins surrounds

Them as they dance forever around

Each other, never once daring

To meet in the middle. Around them

The white-washed walls feed on the

Remnants of their fragile hearts

And in their cold-blooded lust for

The glamorous, they forget they are

Only flesh

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