A Dallying Dance with Death

So obviously oblivious, the dilapidated wretch's coat of life slips away, barring freedom no more for the worm's sweet meats. The functionality of loneliness escapes the bereaved's lips, laughing a lonely translucent screen of delightedly tangled emotions. Softly, the innumerable reasons and half-chanced perforations to mortality tap listlessly on the bent shoulders of absolution, screaming the courting whisper to glide with abject reasons to a double step tango. However, there are "no mistakes in the tango, not like life. It's simple. That's what makes the tango so great. If you make a mistake, get all tangled up, just tango on." Leaving a succinctly real imprint upon the soul's clinging, wide-eyed attempts to not falter or fail. A dance that leaves all breathless, astonished at a previously unfound swagger towards surreal and superfluous thoughts of grandeur, immortality, and all other child-esque failings that claim victory over the most vivacious and real thoughts of reality.
Dumfounded explications of unwrought misery falter at the adjunct truth that the static conclusion empties every cup, whether partially filled or brimming full. Cataclysm's that gape their maws, ferociously fanged, yet harmlessly tethered, bringing disillusioned fear unto the un-fearable. Apathy objects no less, but delights ever more, when confronted with intelligible wants and cast off needs; levering fact away from fiction until fictional facts constitute lightly trodden footsteps absent of a path. The eternal gaze from eyes, clouded with the mysteries of the ever-after, glance accursedly at sobbing lines of ritual. Peace, a rarely found entity, holds no immeasurable sway over angelic choruses or satanic riffs; however, it finds a loosely abridged juxtaposition within the six feet under Blake's reveled marriage. Emaciated, rotting words hold no king's title over rented plots of plastic carnations while bloating and bothersome eulogies puff pretension through the bellows of summarizing the un-summarizable.
The prize of unwavering determination skips through the fingers of all but those with the cyclical knowledge of life. Fear of no control, pain, thoughts left unexpressed... the nightmares of human protagonation swept with fiery vehemence provides no excuse or allowance for the self-pity of the inevitable. Life is better lived than watched, better watched than feared, and better feared than apathized .