The cards flip like lids of coffins,
Each one biting at my fingertips.
The Tower shakes, cracks, crumbles open,
A skull\'s grin behind every window.
Fate splays herself on the table,
Her long, cold fingers tapping time.
The Hanged Man dangles, frozen breath,
My heart, a pendulum of glass shards.
The Lovers entwine in their stillness,
But their lips are sewn with iron wire.
The Moon rises, her face pale, veiled,
Eyes black as ink, mouth full of secrets.
The Devil laughs in his red corner,
Chaining my wrists with phantom hands.