Capricious

2 - Untitled

"I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them."
- Oscar Wilde

Immediately things calm, the noise in the background ceases, my breathing slows. I begin to let go. My body relaxes, shoulders slouch, eyes droop. The tips of my fingers buzz. It is cold, but inside it feels as if temperature no longer exists, no longer affects me. There is a slight burn in my throat. My face stills, grows heavy, as heavy as my heart.

My face starts to burn, as if a multitude of tiny hot needles are pinpricking my cheeks, crawling down my face. Everything slows, I sway to a rhythm with no sound. My movements seem clumsy, unplanned, and yet I begin to feel whole. My eyes want to close, to drift away, let go of everything, everything that now seems so meaningless. As I move my head side to side, it begins to feel lighter, jetting off like a hot air balloon, fired up and moving swift, flying in the wind. My chest becomes a twisted rock, chained to me with ropes, taught and strong. It is weighing me down, pounding and so jolting through me.

My brain knots together, intricately twisted, heating up, clouds of fire surging through it. Pinpricks tap at my skull, digging into my brain, lighting it up, enflamed, entranced. My heart lightens. My head becomes heavy, starts to fall, still not thinking. My mind is splurging, bulging out, twisting and flurling, like bubbles filled with solid liquid, changing shape, a ball of pulp. They're all over. In a world, pink and delicate, everything curved and striped. Mountains rising if you will, like great raindrops drifting slowly, up into the cloudless sky. They are watching, swaying. And so am I.

Time is flowing quickly, or else all is faster than you thought it was. Everything but yourself. Myself. I look into the mirror. I'm not really there. Something is off. The tracings of every line and colour edged too finely, like a drawing with edges brushed. I am the reflections in my eyes, staring from a distant place. My lips move, dance so softly. My eyes are fixed on my other self. I am not me. This isn't quite reality. It is somewhere else. I'd confuse it for a dream, but no, in dreams I am alone. Here I am not.

Cold air blown through my legs, the pinpricks of my thigh, calf, foot, as if excavating, repairing, rejuvenating. They still as if perfectly carved from rock. My heart beats faster, I'm breathing faster. My heart now a flame in one world, a weighing rock in the next. I jolt. I don't know why. My eyes suddenly burn up. Boiling seas flowing through them. The sun penetrates through the sky, scorching the water. It evaporates up into joining clouds, still in liquid form. They rest on sky's roof, bursting to lift off. Now cold rivers run through my thighs. The boiling, glowing, liquid clouds on the sky rise off, stinging downward, glowing upwards.