The magician stood center stage,

a thick, black, curly strand of hair in his hand.

He danced in circles, holding it in out front of him.

Slowly, the strand began to grow into a full head of hair,

like paint dripping down a canvas.

A face formed in the same manner,

a mournful expression shadowing the fair countenance.

As he danced, the hair became a woman

who wore a flowing gown of thick, black smoke.

And the waltz continued with a terrible beauty,

she a haunting figure and he her master.

Their movements became more frenzied.

She was powerless; she could do naught but follow him.

Until he kissed her. Then she simply melted away.


I had this dream a while ago. I couldn't forget it.