You nearly spew lemon vodka but
rough peels wedge your throat.
You use that as an excuse for the
tears when the strobe lights neon
your face pink, it’s killing my eyes
you say to no one, over and over
with your hands in the air
like a steel fan. You’re a hazard
to everyone around you.
The belle of the ball in stilettos
wielding daggers as you kick
out to the dubstep digging
power tools into your bones,
drilling right through marrow.
The music has no where else
to go now. You trapped it.
A scared animal flinging against
the cage, growling continually
as you spin and spin to its tempo.
Carmen Corridan (she/her) lives in Ireland. She's been published in Impossible Archetype. She enjoys reading, writing at ridiculous hours of the night and being a cat mom to a crazy ginger.