Melancholic Music of the Frightened Souls

Let’s go to a place where violins in the sky chirrup playfully and pianos in the floor chime melancholic chords. A dramatic place, where Hope dances against a flaming backdrop of despair, a diamond juxtaposed on a rupturing sea of grotesque fish being burnt alive. It’s a painful dance, full of aches and misery as the contortions grow steadily more hideous. Yet, she becomes more beautiful on each beat as her joints twist and snap. She smiles through it all, even as she cries. Tears crawl upwards to the dry, rotten roots of her hair, and climb the straw-like strands before jumping for the stars, where they suffocate and patter back down onto her hematite skin. Her body folds, melts even, into a rusty revolver. She fires six bullets into the backdrop, which shatters like glass, blood hangs like a rosy morning mist, highlighted by a new light above. A tear drops out of the barrel that used to be her eye, falling onto another piano key, the first note of a new musical passage. It’s followed by the sound of laughter as more tears begin to fall from her barrel face.

We feel a pulse rise through us; we step in time to it. Our joints crack and splinter as we begin to smile and cry. We take hold of each other as we come apart, kissing as we unfurl each other’s skin and wave it like banners in the sky. A single strike of a drum signifies the end of the performance, and we let our skins fly on the wind. Our bones are rusty and dissolve in the rising water. We become fish in an ocean of despair, beautiful shimmering things. Our lips come apart and a void rushes in to fill the space. Yours are smiling, mine are quivering. It’s such a dramatic place we’ve come to. The violins sound drowned, the piano flooded, a warbling underwater waltz. Hope reloads and fires into the void, which curls up and dies. We rush at one another, pass through each other, and into orchestral fields full of blood stained roses.

My fingers press on piano keys made of dead flowers, you bow violin strings made of Hope’s dead lifeless hair. Together we make a dramatic place, where we can go together. We watch Hope dance, a crazy dance, and set fire to despair.

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