morbid, poetic story! Options

[Heathasm]

The old wedding chapel seemed, to me, picturesque amongst its scenery
Until this day; The Hall of the chapel hitched on a small plateau by the lake
Scented with the rape of true will; it had me down on my knees before I could walk
Then taken inside of a colorful dream, built with a polished metal and oak
Creamed together tightly, and set underneath a barefoot groom and bride

“Do you take…”the priest slurred through his old freckled lips-
Spats of liquid hitting the soiled open book before him, as a man stood up;
He faded slightly and was swept away on a wisp of wind that waited
Silently at the chapel’s, above the plateau, small and unlatched wood doors
And the bride fell to the shiny oak floor, lying there, quite still
As a small, unpolished, nail had made it’s way through the board and into her skull