Flashing lights 06.06.99
crimson latex caught between metal splattered nerve endings. every shade of brown represented on gray tile floors. reminders of what no one wants to remember hang from blue and white cotton. but red seems to be the color of the day, shining through black mesh and overly loud bass. whirling around, she wished they would fall to her level. sitting. she always got the worst seat. not feeling like herself either. manufactured tones pulsing through sagging flesh. sitting. blue and black teetering precariously on the edge of white plastic. she knew she would never belong here, that she could never belong. so she pretended like it was her worst fear, the monster under the bed, the nightmare in her closet. sometimes she wanted to be the instant of yellow shining on the ceiling.
this is for michelle, i guess, because i wrote it at her party on the back of a parking sign