The Loki Dance

mirror

What did you expect to find? Some immence beauty you have created in your mind? Some semblance of normalacy? Some sweet words that by some stroke of strangeness happened to be true? They told her things, she believed and found they were right. It was true. She drank until her body refused movement but still she was drowning, still her mirth was flawed. The drink was a disguise and her lover hid his eyes. Beside her he was still. Not because of drink but despair. She was always drowning. Anxiety overwelmed her. She grabbed at him, her hands winding his dark curls around her wrists, she wanted always to be tied to him in some tangible way so she could believe. Believe what he said. Believe and stop this anxiety. Everyone leaves me! Where did it begin? Her father has dark curls. He left. He walked away, he didn't look back. Years pass, she still believes she loves him. Why love him? Why love anyone at all? Love is death. Love is anxiety and crying silent tears because to be loud would be rudeness. She never wanted to wake him.
But her lover was always awake. He pretended to sleep. He still could weep. His emotions were like his hair, curled and caught around her wrists which always said his near was not near enough. Where was he going? Why couldn't she come?
Her belief became like the alcohol she drank murky and intoxicating and full of exaggerations. Love? What is love? She would test him. She would hurl words at him. Words that her father had hurled at her first, words are stored in her very soul. And the murky points of light, he still held her when she cried.
But she annihalted the love. Because she was drowning always, and could not take a palm. to do so would be foolish wouldn't it?
Why are you still in my life? she would muse, and he would muse. Hers was loud. She locked into him her haphazard desires. She does not know how to experience joy, it is so foreign, it is so daunting. He does not know how to be plain, his metaphors are like that hair, weaving and curling and tangling. He does not want to be so frank, he does not know why or what he hates exactly. It has nothing to do with her.
He leaves to find his way. She is dumb founded and curses herself for years. Her mockery is all self directed. She wonders about...love. What is love? Is it easier to love from a safe distance? To not have the ability to curl close, to wind his hair about her wrists? She resists every kiss, she resists intimacy because it is a destroyer of her very self. How destroyed? How under? She sometimes believes she dreamed her lover.
Her father is a character she often invents, not wanting to have to love his true soul. A miserable fool would come to her bedroom door. Is it his friend? A misery would encase her soul and she would murmur from the time she was a little girl "do not go!" but the he's in her life always go and now she sees herself in them, her instability. her lack of fidelity in dream. She doesn't mean to be elusive. Her mystery pulls them in. But it amuses her in a strange sad way. She isn't so deep as just honest when she says these things. They look deeper to avoid the hurt, it must be a metaphor. It must be jest, it must be less sinister then this! But her scars tell.
Her hair let down, her beauty drowned. In that bottle years ago when she learned to drink. When she was a little girl. She still searches for beauty. She still searches, she is insatiable. Is this lonliness terminal? Her vampire mouth is full of blood but what irony. It is her own. She will drink her own life. She will drink. She will drown. Perversities disturb but she is used to them. They never stopped. Where is she now?

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