Dance

The window is wide open letting in a transmogrification of my bright orange and yellow landscape that still runs and reruns in my head. The music is loud, too loud like the bright white light that bathes my dark skin crumbling from lack of moisture and care. I can feel my wrists twisting and twirling (so are my hands, my legs and my hips each one in a circle of motion quite its own), hitting and banging unidentified objects. The bloody maroon furniture and the dark blue walls are transformed from the white hot light I emanate. (I know, I know, I know it’s me). I bounce off the not-so-bouncy bed and hurt my shoulders, my blades, my wings, my fingers, my spine, my neck, my talons, my halo, my horns, my, my, my….I cant stop. The water mixes with more water and all my pores contribute-no more tears, just love, pure, white, hot love that cures and blesses and burns holes into the evil that surrounded and compounded for so long.

There is music, words and so much poetry brimming in my mind; it’s all a haze of ugly conditioning.

I fall, get up and jump around again.

The walls and the floors underneath resonate, joining in the celebration (Hey bring in my drinks, champagne, vodka, rum, those colourful bottles of fermented, rotting veggies carefully stacked in the liquor cabin, whatdyagot!). We all thud against each other as Fergie’s voice muffled under mine, muffled by the voice of my skull banging against the wooden closet thuds against walls and unabashedly oozes into the homes of neighbours and parents. Of the children and the blind who are too young to understand and too old to change.

My ankles hurt so bad now. I scream and fall on to a misplaced pillow and sink into it. The music drips in the last few beats and stops. The ensuing silence is clear and empty. New and Anonymous.

The doors are wide open now and nothing is screaming and there isn’t any blood and there isn’t any pain. My anger is white, my limbo silver and my peace…colourless.