An Idea
I dance here under the spotlight of the night, in the shell of this anti-bellum ballroom. The shards are sharp beneath my bare feet from the shattered remnants of my reflection and bits of broken skylight. There is no vanity left in this space. Only joy and pain dwell here. I stain the rotting oak floor crimson while the sky above me washes it away, leaving only peeling varnish. I sway to the sounds of the rain, syncronized and singing around me. My cup runneth over, like a vessel sweating in the summer heat, the sheen of bloodbath coats my body and my clothing becomes a second skin. I taste it on my upper lip, a mixture of drunken sin and sobering purity. Each time I spin, scarlet drops are lost to the damp shadows from my outstretched fingertips. My heart pounds against my breast but not to live, only to push the blood through each vein until it can escape out into the world, returning to the earth. This is a sacrifice I would gladly give to the chaos, time and again.