Forward Motion in Vegas

I’m fastened upward-arms dangling downward
Blood-bitter bastards in the pit that had mangled me forward
The grass in the upswing couldn’t cancel out
the dance about the bedraggling
Choreographed by neon corpses
Massaging, monologue within the electrified signs that entrance and shout
You’re your own trap and we’ll see your wrongs are greeted by horses
met at the gate with a casket full of plagues
It’s worth fighting my flirtatious fate just to see you age