regardless of those looks you send my way-- the ones that beg for understanding, the kind that tempt a woman into breaking her vows, her beliefs just for a night--for a single moment in the still of time-- that brings her solace; to completion, and utter bliss, i will not be broken by such petty displays of desperation when i've already played your game of search and destroy. i'll tell my tale, preach my teachings, and keep with my convictions--my sentence, my torture, shall be yours while the jury stands by, an audience to our final dance together; a slow one, a melodic one-- steps that haven't yet been choreographed, but yet we know by heart, by feeling, by emotion that beats within our hearts--that speeds up our pulses and rushes adrenaline through our veins--fear that envelopes us, plagues us, and drains us still. the courtroom is our ballroom while the judge hums a tune of days and years, hours and weeks that matches the steady drumming of the gavel against the checkered dancefloor--black step here, a white step there; we're moving backwards and forwards, meshing black with white, turning gray with each twirl and disappearing as everything flashes into nothing--a blur, a dismissive stare--a pensive look and then you're gone; in nothing but chrome and steel, with a look of ice and a grin of malice.