nobody gets out alive

Painting with the music up. Poor Man's Poison Radio, Pandora. 

Dancing.

Eating raw sugar snap peas and drinking generic tea from a plastic bottle.

There are things I'm avoiding facing, safe in the moment. 

The deficit in my bank account. My face in that hyper-realistic, 'Bold Glamour' tiktok filter that makes your skin look clear. I know how I would react if I saw myself with clear skin, and I don't want to feel that. So I'm curious and averse, but curiosity doesn't stand a chance in this fight.

Listening to defiant music and feeling it. 

Reaching my limit of sugar snap peas. Cottonmouth. Tea.

Fuck it all. 

The last ginger cookie.

I think fungi are gardeners. We're the fruiting body, out of control. 

I'm moving between the lines, I can't stop my feet dancing. I don't want to.

Why am I afraid of looking silly when nobody can see me?
Why am I afraid of looking silly?
Why am I afraid?
Why am I?
Why?

It hurts and hobbles. 

I dance anyway, furiously. 

The dam is broken.