I go to a party in my room at 2am. 

 

The crooked alchemy of little potions and sparkle dust

 

Drifting and merging from the distant pulsing lights

 

Wicked city far away calling to me in a kaleidoscopic purple 

 

But still, they’re only patched, a glissade across my protruding limbs. I would reach my face toward the light,

 

Crane my neck until my chin dug painfully into the strings beneath the thin layer. And the decompression between the two straining muscles descends under the cotton blankets. 

 

My nose would peak almost nearly,

Then maybe my lips, just a taste of that galaxy soup 

 

What would it be like to steep inside the melting pot? To become one of them? 

 

To be forever within the light, not just by the tip of my nose but by my legs and shoulders and hair too, dancing and kissing and being up, up. 

 

What I wouldn’t give to give up my heavy eyes, desert the burdens that dragged from my thin wearing earlobes and chase the light. 

 

But as my lungs scream, angry screams that force acid back up my throat and grow red lines across my bulging eyes, I cannot hold on for much longer, I cannot linger. The fever dream slides and morphs. It does not want me. 

 

I hit the pillow again. 59 seconds this time, new record. 

 

One by one, the lights die, and the soft colors, of mixed red and blue, disappear, until the panes are again black and nothing comes in anymore l. The empty walls smile sadly at me, knowing that I dread their return. 

 

I’m alone again.

 

Sleep, don’t take me just yet, let mr look one left time, one final glance. In case there is still something, anything still out there. 

 

2 am, I miss you already.