Drift, Glide, Hover, Soar

 Sometimes I float. I feel the base in my chest, bumping against my heart. It makes it hard to breathe. I choke, but the electricicty keeps coursing through me. People surge against me, pulsating. I want to scream. Not from anger or pain, but from the sheer brutality of it all. The drums make the scene before me flutter and buckle. I tip my head back and feel the beat almost knock me off my feet, it's so deep in my chest. It's still hard to breathe. What makes it into my lungs smells like sweat and vigor and viciousness. I want to float to the ceiling and sit in the cobwebs and choke on the air with the spiders. We'll learn to live with the base knocking against our hearts together.

 Sometimes I float. Angry glares, a stare-down. Anxiety and adrenaline tearing through my viens. It hurts. Streaks of white shirts and peach ice cream swirl past me. I want to lay on the glass-topped tables and throw salt shakers at them, while letting the surface cool my cheek.

 Sometimes I float. Big brother lets me cry. Sweet, twisted, ruined tears of sadness and happiness. Gin is warming and patting and petting my belly on the inside, like big brother is petting my head and whispering humane and pretty things in my ear. I don't want to be touched but I desparately need to be. Dark curtains pull over my eyes and the rollercoaster in my head begins. I wish I was on the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, watching the sky light up with electricity, rough boards under my head. They are coarse and jagged and stepped on by a million feet. That's what my brain feels like. Big brother shakes me awake.

 Sometimes I float. Cobalt sees cobalt. An echo of vision. We're the same. You kiss my mouth and I trip into another world. Cool sheets and humid blankets bind me close to you. "I think we can make each other really happy." Those words hum in my ear, getting me drunk. I want to be in Siberia with you. We'll stay under blankets and furs all day and let the wind scream at us. We won't be bothered by it. Potatoes and stroganov will make us fat and make the tigers jealous that they can't eat us. Your hand on my face brings me back. My body warms and sparks at your touch. I pet chest hair. You beam at me. You smell like warm bread and protection. Your gaze makes me feel beautiful. We slip into sheets and snow and tigers of Siberia.

 Sometimes I float. I lay my head back and all I see is sky. Raw power and urgency and pain are running through the clouds. I whimper. I wish I was in the soaking grass, feeling wetness seep into my soul. The rain comes quickly, clutching a timepiece, late as always. I want to be in it as it hurtles to earth, I want to be damp and soaked and moist and exquisite in it. I want it to hurt me and love me and make me feel alive. My brian swells and seeps ideas and thoughts onto the floor. I lay my head back and all I see is sky. Sky and sky and sky. And I want to float in it.