“We’re dancing ‘round the kitchen in the refrigerator light”
A bright red harmony plays lightly, floating around
my our laughter and swirling beneath the gentle taps of my our feet. Holding a glass of sparkling golden champagne in my hand, I glide across the slick marble floor, my hair drifting about. It’s almost too good to be true, almost. The music guides my our steps spreading a mood of serenity and calm over me us.
Yet, something doesn’t feel quite right. The peace suddenly feels almost… suffocating. My breath catches. A sudden sharp pain sears through my head, echoing throughout my body.
A dark red dissonance rings and rings and rings. Its darkness clouds my vision. Lusterless shards of shattered glass are scattered across my rugged vinyl floor. Somber ghosts prance around the loneliness of my worn down kitchen. Was any of it real? Of course not, they laugh. Overwhelmed with the wave of chaos and storm, I sob, …
“…crestfallen on the landing, with champagne problems…”
“…because I dropped your hand while dancing.”
I left you there standing, standing in the rain, with nowhere to go but under. But is that really true? No, not really. You stayed by my side after all of these years, haunting my memory, cursing my conscious, and torturing my soul. I really dug my own grave, a grave filled with regret and self-pity. Isn’t that ironic? You are not a stranger to graves.
Cries from your coffin keep me awake at night. For the unfortunate days that I do sleep, I dream of that night in the kitchen. Of the calm before the storm. A storm of death that followed you on your way back. I left you with a tattered string, left you with unresolved and shameful emotions. For that string, was of the last that you felt, before the red death swallowed you whole. I wonder if you would’ve forgave me if you had survived, I wouldn’t.
Still, I have the nerve to wallow in my own distress and in your absence. I have ninety-nine regrets, and your death is definitely one.
“You were my crown, now I’m in exile seeing you out.”