I'm dancing in the dust.
My fingers, stained with rust.
The smell of soot
and burning wood,
collapsing in my chest
This used to be a house,
now a shell of what it was.
My feet are bare
and marking where
with every step I took.
I danced across the floor.
My nails were painted red.
At least I'm pretty sure,
by the picture in my head.
I'm looking at the sky,
my mouth, my heart, just sigh.
I twirl, and spin,
and live again
I'm dancing in the dust.
