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   black spots danced around my hazy vision.


    they were my personal ballerina dancers made out of storm clouds, dancing around in my tunneled and fuzzy line of vision, distorting everything until it fit their own sick and twisted dance.


    i felt myself get caught up in their haunting melody again, feeling my own claws on my palms, scratching, tearing to the harmony of my shortened breaths.


    more dancers leapt in, distorting the song that was supposed to be my breathing even more. they pushed my too-small, too-pale, too-shaky hands to my scalp, tearing my frizzed hair to the notes floating through my panicked brain.  


    i scrabbled over the too-bright tiles, clawing desperately as they giggled in tune, beginning to whisper a song about how i failed.


    the made a beautiful leap into the middle of my eyes, twirling around and distracting me as they used my- are they mine?- their hands to grab the prettiest thing in the cabinet.


    incorporating the shiny silver ribbon into their routine, they laughed - mocking me - as they swirled over my wrist.


    out came the deep red demons that lived inside of me, slipping to the floor as their colours undulated.


    i loved watching them.

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