Fun House

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

At eight years old, I planned to join the circus, in my notebook - half a page torn out, a goodbye never sent.
I was sure to find a place where I belonged, lie below the lions and bears as they howled in cages and watch the stars burn into the backs of my eyelids
bright hot, red, like staring at the sun, stage lights
A cacophony of lights blur in my retina, unfold, blossom, throb.
I am overtaken by the sensation of red, heat, home.
Even at a young age I still imagined the tendrils of smoke wrapping around the brittle wrists of the night sky, from the women who rides horses backwards, accompanied the rasp from the man who swallows fire, I would listen to their stories, their modern fairy tales of sex and lies.
The reverse dragon.
I would be a dancer, pivot like those women trapped in wooden prisons, my feet bolted into the stage. My paint for wooden limbs would melt under the lights, illuminate the cracks in my joints, the tiny rust nails in my fingers. While paint drips to accompany the song of my creaky knees, my mask remains feeding the illusion, I collapse, a crescendo.
I am overtaken by the sensation of white, death, paint, calm?
I'd illustrate stories with my hands as my feet would sway like a turbulent ocean, the sea foam is my sweat, and the strings of forget me nots tied tight across each digit would dangle and sway as I drowned among the rotten wood of a theatre hall,
The reverse marionette.

*SWOONS* he is just to amazing for words i mean he can act, dance, sing, write songs, hes SEXYASHELL,
i look at any other guy and be like
hair- not curly or darren enough
eyes- not hazel enough
eyebrows- not triangley enough
everything- not darren enough
voice- no way ever near good enough
so IM LIKE DARREN OR FOREVER ALONE.