Arm extending towards the sky, deep breaths course their way through my veins, filling my every sense. A sickening grace follows the contortion of my body as legs fall to the ground in a solid 180 degree line. The sheer pall of sweat mixed in with the bittersweet liquid pouring out of my eyes as they fluttered close every now and then. Music pounded within the sound proof, secluded area set off from the rest of the universe. The steady beats of a bass drum pounded restlessly in my ears, deafening me to an ignorant state of bliss. Thoughts flew recklessly about my conscience. The notes merged seamlessly into a droll murmur as the demons flocking my mind took over.
My body flowed with the music, mindless and twisted. The sweet tears of absolution and anger turned into a fire. A passion for something. A passion to be on top. The flaws of my character followed me like a ghost. Haunting, looming, a lion waiting to attack a lamb in a frenzy of hunger and lust. Dancing with a flawed pain had become so routine. A numbing sensation tingled within me and I continued my disgusting little ren de vous with self deprecation.
The failure of my transgressions hits home, and hard. Recounting my attempts, I have a sickening epiphany of how much I really couldn't do correctly. The dance I executed became choppy as my emotions filled my head, taunting me recklessly. Shadowed ballerinas twist and turn, contorting mournfully in overcasted moonlights. Twisted turns and jaunted movements, a silent ballerina like I turns in a melancholic sequence of tears and despair. Nothing was wrong though, right? A touch of hate to steady the nerves? Self deprecation was a hollow tune I loved to play.
A tornado ravages a town, leaving little to save. A flood demolishes a beautiful beach leaving rubbish and despair in its wake. Love ravages a heart, demolishes common sense, leaving little to think and more to hope. The hate is like an anecdote, a poison to drown out the venom. I stare at the cracked mirror set up in my makeshift studio. The nicks and imperfections seem to shadow and parallel my apprehensive mind. Hatred bubbled beneath the blood that coursed through my veins. And I? I have decided to let it flow, fermenting into a thicker bout of doubt and hopless desparity.
The world didn't matter to me. I sighed as beads of sweat traced my porcelain features. Stretching out, I took one last disgusted glance into the dingy glass and scoffed.
One day, I told myself, I would find a way to make myself perfect.
