Dancing In the Dark.
by: as beauty dies (4/15/2007, 8:15 PM)

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You.

With your kiss, your dance, your mute song; the halo around your neck, you hanging on that tree branch and those frosted over lips, that swan's neck—

It all haunts me still.

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You are, where, singing that same song that night. Your voice still rings in my ears. You danced beautifully, you always loved to dance—you were always my little ballerina girl, weren't you?

You had the most lovely voice--like a siren, you lured--and the most pretty little dances—like the nymphs and fairies—and you smiled at me (to me, for me, always—you said) as you fell from your pedestal. (You call me a siren and I call you a siren; you are beautiful in your arts and I am not.)

The noose tightens as you choke and I stand there--mid-clap--watching as the chorus stops and the applause begins.

I don't understand.

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I remember this dream; just you and me and that thing in-between (you love me and I love you, but it isn't the same).

I think I'm going crazy because of you. You--rape me--take me against the wall (I forget to say no), and--

I remember you, the real you, still.