From the Chandelier

The silence has avoided me. It scurries away into unreachable corners while my days rage in overflowing appointment books. I run alongside the Red Queen and watch the landscape stand entirely still. It will catch up, a haunting voice repeats in the back of my head. When at last it arrives, does it not bring a month worth of venomous sludge with it, sinking into my every pore and drowning me in its thick dark matter? I scrub the bathroom tiles until my fingers bleed, my lungs give out, I turn the music up and draw out the demons from their hiding places, watch them yawn and stretch until they are ready to dance.

There were so many kind faces on the screen today, so many voices weighing in and offering their support, or their words of warning. You can look to others for answers all you like; the life, in the end, is yours alone to live. The evening grows cold. I wrap myself in layers of chain mail, feel the heavy, cold metal bear down on my skin, and the lightness that comes with it. Once again I've gotten so close to the wide and straight path, the correct steps, once again I've tasted the fresh air of a life on the inside.

But I recognize myself more with grime under my fingernails. Dance better with the foul ghosts of mildewy margins. There's a kerosene storage in my gut.

I am done trying to do the right thing.

It is time to burn this whole place
to the ground.