If it worked before

Red ecstasy, like crushed lipstick
bending in on itself at the knees, creaking and needing practice.
Flecked turqoise,
suave reeds
saying please
pluck your arm off my back, thanks.
Joy and Pain, wearing white flowy dresses, manifesting themselves
in my limbs, energy flowing into my perfect fingers;
albino and shadowy.
Waving like puppets
"Goodday"
but never "Goodnight".

Everyday before I crawl into my bed as a cat,
I say a prayer of protection.
It's on ripped paper, hanging above my head, pressed against the wall like insect
with yellowed tape, feeding on the power of the plea.
I feel like Macbeth, and magic.

I don't think I'm pathetic, I'm dancing to the
calyspso rhythm of the world, collapsing in on myself in gentle repitition.
Like the orange waves
of twenty stories,
building walls around me then melting back into the sky.
I'll just spin forever,
a pheonix and explosive
recreating myself from the ashes of red.