|
i am in a vast hotel room. by myself. the room is pink and green, and smells softly of soap: the wholesome kind that grandmas keep nestled in chrome above oval rugs on blue linoleum. the soap smell may be me, nude in a bed built for four of me—one melancholy, perhaps elegiac; one euphoric; one clutching at a mass of black hair, having just awakened into a bad dream, eyes shut and wanting to scream. just once. and me— alone in a _______ and smelling of soap. i'd finished reading Girl Walking Backwards. it's about me. i was thirsty for inspiration, so i took a shower. showers inspire me. amaranth says it's "scientifically proven." something about negative ions. i let the water burn my skin like chocolate. like sunlight. emerged with feet rose-petal red. red feet, blue hair. ivory bones. i turn out the light. the colors might disappear. turn on the radio drown out the silence. some 80's song about a pedophile. i want for someone to hold me. i always want desperately to be held. i concentrate on holding myself. almost manage to convince myself i'm stronger for it. |