• The tang of Crimson,
    Swirls of Violet, Emerald
    Gold,
    Garish, glossy colors,
    Mangled, bloody lip,
    Flash of pearl,
    Teeth sawing flesh,
    It stings, but the colors burn,
    The pressure’s too much.

    Drowning in the stares,
    The colors all blend,
    A grey, throbbing mass of confusion,
    Still, the carousel spins...

    My grip is slipping,
    Unsteady,
    Unsure,
    Knuckles aching,
    Turning bone white,
    But, the sweat glues my hands to the cold, steel pole,
    I’m stuck in this cacophony,
    My stomach turns.
    The metal is icy to the touch, it burns,
    Though I press against it still,
    For fear of letting go.
    My breath has long abandoned my chest,
    I gasp for air,
    I can’t get my balance,
    It’s spinning so fast.

    Shiny, plastic, fake horses,
    Dark, unblinking eyes,
    Stuck in an endless race,
    No end, no purpose,
    Hard beneath me,
    Uncaring, unfeeling,
    My fingers are numb,
    My head is spinning,
    Spinning like the carousel,
    So fast that all the colors blend
    into a vomit-colored mess.

    But there, in the crowd,
    The point I struggle to focus on,
    Only your edges blur,
    I keep you in sight,
    You’ll hold my hair back when I get off this ride,
    Won’t you?