The Ballroom Gal

She stood simply blank, but her aroma said all, chained by anguish, locked with guilt. Her eyes as endless and deep and the void its self. Mind of everlasting repititative realization of demise, But not only is she still there, with a pair of shoes only comparable with night. She surfed the floor with anger of broken hearts. Her veined beats quickened with each step, though. She offered a hand. So slow was the band, she gave me a chance. So i changed my stance.