slow dancing in a burning life.

Go cry about it why don't you?
well at least I cry,
you taunting asshole.
Its not just the room or the dance that burns so hot, I say.
You laugh smugly.
It is this life, I scream.
a slow burn,
a rapid one,
a backdraft which will blow you the fuck over when you least expect it.
One whatever day,
in a whatever moment,
you will go to open the door to wherever
and Bam - thrashing flames, you'll be burnt all up,
left nothing but a glowing ember barely holding onto the light.
AHHHHHHHHH I scream.
Is it so hard for you to see?
And why is that?
Why do some of us see the dance card needs to be full - fill it,
do the cha cha
dance the waltz
tango for Christ's sake,
this life is slow burning and there is no way out you dumb fuck,
so dance.
You're a bitch because you can,
but really because you can't.
I am the only light you ever saw.
Dark like ashes,
flaky wet amidst the rubble,
damp from the rescue squad.
Don't for a second think,
I won't pick it up,
smudge it under my eyes like war paint,
and dance the ritual dance.
Because I will,
and I will cry about it.
Long after your silence has quieted.
I will hear my music,
slow dance in my own burning room,
do it sultry with dark weeping eyes,
and laughter.